(Ides of March)
“But what are they saying?” she asked, “That my ‘productivity is dropping due to my personal life.’ What that means, I haven’t the slightest. Leave it to Upper Management to make up some cockamamie story like that.”
He opened his billfold and handed the barista a two-dollar tip. “Tell me, Emily; why do we work at a coffee shop and then meet at one on the weekends?”
“Well, Todd, I suppose its just familiarity. Besides, we were coming here long before we started work at Italia D’Oro. Since high school, even. Freizeit Café is our place, you know. Remember when you and Chris used to bring your guitars up here every other afternoon, sit in that corner, and just play? Lord, you guys would play the most awful sounding stuff, too!”
“Yeah.” Todd reminisced.
“Tall mocha, grande cappucino!” called the barista.
“Thanks.” Todd and Emily retrieved their cups and headed to the patio outside. “Those were good times,” he began, lighting a cigarette, “but now look at us. Mid-life crisis at 21. And the town and the neighborhood just stay the same as we grow older.”
“Kinda’ like the Picture of Dorian Gray?”
“No, Emily. Nothing like that. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
They both silently checked their clothing and hair. Then Emily asked, “Well, who is she?
“She… Narcissus. Who else? They’re all sirens on the rocks of broken kingdoms. Best to be alone sometimes. And who’s your femme fatale?”
Emily laughed. “Hmm… Venus. I’d have to say I agree with you, right now. Christina called me last night, though. She had apparently been up all night, on Adoral. She wanted to ‘talk.’ I fell asleep while she was rambling on about the dullness of her kitchen wallpaper.”
He dropped his cigarette in his lap and jumped up from the table. “Fuck!” He picked it up from the ground. “That sucks.”
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad. The worst part was hearing her talk about her spiritual connection with Aleistor Crowley. So, a change of topic? Where were you Thursday?”
“One – hungover. Two – getting drunk. I just felt horrible; I couldn’t come into work. I guess it was a sort of nervous breakdown. I spent all Wednesday night at the Spokes doing their after-hours karaoke thing. I woke up late, threw up, then caught the first bus I could catch.”
“So why didn’t you make it in?” Emily blew into her cup and smelt the scent rising to her face.
“Well, it may sound strange, but… I got downtown, and I was walking past Livington Plaza. This homeless man – bum, or what have you – approached me. Of course, I just assumed he was going to ask for a smoke or some change or something. But when he came up to me, he said… the weirdest thing.”
Emily sat up straight. “Well, go on.”
“He came up to me, smiled, and asked, ‘So, how’s life in the ant colony?’”
Silence.
She spoke first. “Wow, that’s deep.” Todd shook his head mournfully. “What did you say, then?
Todd took a long draw from his cigarette. The cherry had begun to burn the filter. He flicked it aside. “I… I said it was horrible.”
Emily exhaled and reclined, leaning back into her chair. An employee exited through the front door, speaking to a co-worker inside, ”... and then, I’m outta here!” A moving truck rumbled by the parking lot, heading towards the busy intersection. Somewhere in the distance, a subwoofer barked out a deep, guttural bass riff. Horns honked. Bells rang. Street lights flashed on with the setting sun.
“I always had this feeling that those ‘unfortunate souls’ knew something we didn’t.”
| <-"One AM at the gas station" by Erin Frumet. | "Snow in San Diego" by Jodi Walda-> |
