Filling in the background a single color, slowly walking the aisles of far-too-many grocery stores buying far-too-many groceries, passing days with only foggy memories to speak of. A few of my own.
A man of early thirties sits with a pen at a table for two by himself. Hunched over, he draws or writes in a very atypical position. Keeping his cup of Progress coffee close, he seems oblivious to any movement within the small shop. An hour before closing and we exist as the only two in a usually busy place. I am told the forty-one degree weather in Texas is keeping most East-siders in tonight. The only presence I feel around me is the loud music that attempts to compensate for the lack of energy from both employees and customers. The Daily Special menu hasn't changed since my Tuesday visit and the air conditioning is slowly killing half of the hanging ivies. For the longest time I thought ivies were an impossible species to kill.
When he quickly moves to the outside porch, his rough beard and layered clothing are made apparent. Watching him from the window, I notice he starts to roll his own cigarettes. A man of little convenience. I wonder what kind of coffee he chose to order.
My attention is drawn to the art pinned up on the CMU walls. A series of "Cycles Bigger than You" represented in the most precise and detailed craft, something that must have taken many hours, days. Each drawing profiled either people or nature in the most interesting of forms or fated of scenarios.
A second man walks through the door and orders a large coffee to go. The emotionless employee asks, "Would you like cream?" and his response is "Sure, I guess." He is out the door even before I can notice what he is wearing. He was young.
The first man stands from his chair outside, turns as if he has no destination, and leaves.
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