To look at her, gone through another ten-thousand days or so with mornings behind that register one might have thought that she was the solitary cornerstone that kept this greasy mean little place going? That parade of wildlife out there beyond the glass on the other side of the window! That ranged from flies to sparrows! Was I not waylaid in this far flung out of the way outpost by bandits! The Arabs behind me trying to break the sound barrier with a verbal harangue that should have fractured concrete. What was holding this place up? Their verbose frenzy would have made a camel tremble! No peace of mind in sight!
She stood outside tapping her smart phone in consternation. Leaning forward ear flexed to decipher anything of worth. Her clothes of a kind that one knew they had previous owners. Perhaps from the corpse of her mother’s closet? The body within them might have sought refuge in more sympathetic wraps? The spiraling weariness about her carried the hairdo downward and limply about. “If we have learned anything . . .”, her words trailed off. “What then . . . ?“, came my own instantaneous silent response? Was life an unopened present out of reach beyond each daily routine? Those arms were flaccid and fat, to heavily weighed down by the mounting accumulation of unminded years. The only thing to speak of was the directness of her driving habits. It was hard to imagine any sense of persistence of recollection possible some moments after.
Each customer brought with them a daily portion of their inflexible routine as if it were part of their life support. A curious sense of humanity! Had this store been an ant farm the eye would have been impossible to avoid such distinctions. The neon in the window of a small darkened boutique across the boulevard’s median flashed, “Open!” The announcement lost completely upon this side of the open range. If you took the window dressing off either one ended up with pretty much the same watery opinion. A common brand of smokes! The confidence of heavy footed travel leaning on the gas pedal! The brand of auto defining the best guess of each one’s station in life.
A wandering muse could drift about back and forth without regard to enclaves. Each set of the admired passively vigilant towards undo attention. That reflexive ostentation of the unspeakable safely unrevealed within a fog that did little to hide the all too boringly obvious. Curiosity had racked up too many unused lives of these ‘Chat’s!’ Some other trade professionals pumped the bellows of the electronic Smith Coronas pounding text from sentences from under yellowed highlighter beset phrases their fingers tracing along a path of their particular style of annoying hammering. What did society produce anymore? Hot Air? The useless vacuum of cold dead organized empty thoughts.