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i wake up late. guilt followed by coffee and email to wrap up my morning. i am on my way out the door when i spot my stuff from sg on the floor outside my door. it has finally arrived. i rip open the package and put on the snazzy black hoody 'cause it's now officially cold in nashvegas. i go out and eat mexican food and it is tasty and filling and kind of weird. there are whole stalks of green onion in my fajitas. i drive around and look for vintage clothes which is becoming an addiction and the people are new and the clothes are not. i am really into the 40's and 50's stuff, not all that 70's disco shit and definitely not the 80's because i grew up in the 80's and it was a complete waste of a decade.
i go across the river to east nashville to the hip zipper. the store is small, but the owner has a lot of cool stuff and her prices are reasonable. she is eccentric, entertaining and knowledgable. oldies play on the radio. it is the antithesis of the shopping mall experience. everything does not look alike. a lot of stuff is really cool with a history and it's neat to think about and the hardest part is to navigate the space between racks and find something that fits.
i find a shirt that is just so 50's maine hunting lodge that i really have to have it, but it's too small. instead i get a pair of jeans and a 50's windex meets old dollar bill color polyester button down. it is really. fucking. cool. the owner is talking about lavender soap and i agree that it does smell nice and i pay her some of my money but don't leave with any soap. i stop by the turnip truck for groceries and it starts to snow but really just flurries and i tell the girl at the checkout about the hip zipper and they have 40's and 50's stuff and maybe i say this twice but i'm not sure and i leave.
i come home and make pasta with red sauce. i use cento tomatoes to make the sauce and they're the best i've found because they're italian and they don't throw in a bunch of extra sodium. i saute some mushrooms and garlic and the kitchen smells like a tuscan villa and it's steamy and i listen to the postal service. i eat and avoid the temptation to turn on tv. after dinner i get dressed to go out for a pint and don't call anyone.
there is a razor and i walk along it. i go out and it's monday and my expectations are low and they are fulfilled. i am battling sickness and i cannot shake it and it's a cold and it's influenza and it's terrorizing my body and it's neverending. the fact that i go out when i feel like this has nothing to do with it. i would say my grandpa used to say that a little whiskey would fix you right up whenever you're sick, but he never said that and i'm drinking beer. i'm at the saucer and it's my regular spot and i see a guy and his name is dolan and he's kind of weird but he likes soccer and so we talk.
we talk and talk and a guy from work that i called at least twice shows up and he's stoned and i speak with him. he says he smokes herb ever since the divorce and i am kind of drunk and i smile at the red headed waitress that is incredibly good looking with a nose like a ski jump. i think she is cute and she leaves and waits on tables and the guy from work i think is a republican and i can't stand that and he tells me he is a libertarian and i tell him he really needs to change his website.
there is a girl who looks like a suicide girl except not as radical and if you haven't been to their website you should really should. she is brunette with short hair and wears a grey hoody and some old jeans that are really dark blue and i love that and she is talking to some preppy boys and this bothers me but i am still sick. there is another waitress who tells us to read an article from the local university newspaper and it is written by a girl who says that even though everyone is wearing the same thing it is still fashion and they are still avante garde because there are subtle differences and basically they are all still rich.
i drink another beer and decide that the guy from work can probably reform from being a republican and the girl in the grey hoody really is hot, but i feel like crap and man she really is incredibly attractive but tonight i need rest and so i leave.
it's cool. it's cold. you can wear wool and you can wear cashmere and it's cool. you go to fido and try to meetup with bloggers and they're supposed to be here and no one is and it's a bunch of people and they're all solo and they're all alone and it's too quiet. people that are together whisper and they think this is a library but it isn't.
you order a cider cause it's hot and it's cold and you've already had mucho cappucino and you're still kinda wired and it's late and you have to work tomorrow. the floor is tiled and it's trashed and scuffed and not at all shiny and it makes the place more cool and 2 people's cell phones ring at the exact same time and that makes the place less cool. there are kids in jeans and sneakers and girls wearing black hooker boots while they study for the bar exam. a guy in medical scrubs walks past a guy who's a communist.
you pick up your phone 'cause you think it's ringing but it isn't and someone else's phone rings and they pick it up 'cause it is.
there's a girl next to you with a g4 and you want it and you want her and you want to fuck her on top of legal documents and recite notes from lexus-nexus while she is engorged. you wonder if that makes you a pervert, but not out loud. her phone rings and you are turned off. she talks. laughs. giggles.
a girl who is blonde and looks scary with her hair pulled back looks around and wanders away. the guy who looks like a communist is kind of skinny with his too short denim jacket and lenin hat pulled down low. you think he is kind of good looking.
this place is kind of run down and not too polished and it's dirty and rough around the edges and it makes you feel comfortable. a girl who is kind of good looking in the same way that phoebe cates was kind of good looking when she was young except she's not quite that good looking asks if she can have the other half of your table which is actually 2 tables and you say sure.
she drags it far enough away to declare her personal space is distinct from your personal space and that's ok although you must admit that if the space were shared you wouldn't get upset. she wanders off and goes for drink or food and she is gone for a while and she comes back. she smells like spring and white wine and flowers and honey and you wonder if it is a requirement to smell that good to study? you pause. if not it should be. if you were in congress you would make certain that this bill got passed and if you were a president you would sign it as law of the land.
you reevaluate the girl with the g4 and yeah her computer is sexy but decide that she is not. you decide that human aromatherapy is an attractive quality. what is that smell? a guy and a girl get up to leave and they are skinny and young and good looking.
the ceiling is a very flat gray pressed tin ceiling and it's intricate and dull and the same color as a battleship and your coffee cup. a guy comes and delivers eggs and cheese to the table burglar who smells like the garden of eden in the very best part. he tells her a story about editing music videos and everyone in this town is in the music business. she laughs politely and says something nice and he becomes discouraged and leaves.
the girl with the laptop is finally off the phone and now she talks to a lanky guy in a jogging suit and she giggles incessantly. the burglar is quiet and eats quietly and this turns you on. there is a lot of ground to cover and the place is a little louder and the music is new and it kind of sounds like old sonic youth.
she is too close to your space and it's kind of unnerving and she smells so fucking good it's ridiculous and you're in a trance and her mobile phone rings and she talks quietly and doesn't giggle and she is serious. there are more people now and you decide that you are desperately missing alcohol in this situation. you are digging this and you are into this and she does giggle now and it's not annoying and she's genuine and she hangs up and silence reigns. you lean in toward her and open your mouth and then everything goes to static.
it's a brisk morning and the leaves are closer to the ground than the sky now. after lunch i go across the street from a university for coffee. i find a quiet comfortable overstuffed purple chair surrounded by plain preppy college students. i don't know what time it is. hopefully my boss does not walk in here. a guy comes and sits next to me and he fidgets a lot and talks to himself. he's old and wears a crocodile dundee hat and is very weird and i think smells a little funny. soon after every seat around him is vacant. i stay.
a guy in a buckskin jacket wanders from table to empty table until he finally settles on one directly in front of me and he is kind of good looking and too preppy. it is almost all guys in here and a guy who looks like he is probably a professor but i can't say for sure definitely that he is comes in and sits down with another guy at a table. i'm pretty sure he is.
it has been cold all morning and the sun is coming through now and this dim place becomes a little bright as the light hits the windows. a group of very young overweight rich girls walk back and forth in front of me to the bathroom a couple times. a pretty girl in a fuzzy green sweater is staring into her laptop screen and i look up again and she is writing in a notebook and the laptop is gone now and she is wearing headphones. a series of half eaten desserts rest on plates alongside discarded coffee cups on the table next to me.
the room gets louder now and the noise is a french song, baristas who call drinks and 2 girls who laugh at things that are not funny. there are a pair of guys who are caffeinated and probably not 21 yet and discuss things earnestly. one of them is holden caulfield right down to the backward baseball cap and i'm pretty sure it's him and he's a virgin and would probably deny it if you asked him. three girls come and sit at a table right next to me and steal a chair from the guy who is too preppy and quiet.
there's a lot to do and the smelly guy next to me grunts and rounds up all of the half eaten dessert plates and says he's gonna get rid of them and says he's gonna take them up to the counter and says someone is used to havin' their momma waitin' on 'em and i say yeah, i would say so. he grabs all the plates and cups and stacks them and puts his keys across the arm of his overstuffed chair to mark his territory, and carries the dishes away. the air clears up and smells a little better. his keys serve as a reminder of his impending return and here he comes now and he's carrying what is at least his third cup of coffee since i've been here and i hope the barista made at least one of them a decaf but i'm pretty sure she didn't.
one of the nerdy looking girls sitting next to me is kind of good looking but a little too preppy. u2 where the streets have no name just ended and for a moment it's almost quiet and then there are more people and it's loud again and i'm a little depressed because i can't see the girl with the vanishing laptop. there are too many people in the space between us. i lean forward just slightly and i feel unbalanced but in control and i see her and smile. there is a new song coming on now and the guy who smells funny gets up and leaves. i feel bad for not engaging him. maybe he had an interesting story but i'm sick and don't feel like talking to anyone.
there is construction going on and i can see out the window and it's dirty but quiet because there are so many people in here now that they drown out the outside noise with the inside noise. the girl at the table next to me who i thought was good looking is married and the top of her hand is more wrinkled than i would have imagined. i thought it was three girls at the table but they get up to leave and it's actually two girls and a guy. i look up and the girl in the fuzzy light green sweater is still there and i am relieved. she's stilly fuzzy blonde beautiful and her skin is a nice color and our eyes meet peripherally for a split second and disengage.
acoustic coffee shop music to sooth caffeinated nerves through the speakers. two girls sit on the patio and smoke and it can't be much above 40 degrees out there and they smile and talk and they're happy and relaxed. someone's mobile phone rings three times and it is loud and shrill and unnerving.
a girl with a striped scarf sits down in front of me and she faces the guy who is too preppy. he checks her out and she wants him to and he has his hand on his chin which means he thinks about it and she shifts uncomfortably and he starts to tap his foot. holden gets up and puts on a yellow jacket. he's bi or gay and i'm not sure he knows it. he leaves. his friend packs up his laptop alone and i look up and the girl in the fuzzy green sweater is gone now.
breakfast.
a very old bald fag in a short turtleneck serves as host. he says i can sit at the bar. i have my book and it's the only place that's not crowded with no wait and there's room so i tell him ok. there are only four stools and a mother eats with her daughter on the other end. i saddle up, open my menu and there are half a dozen specials that involve stoli bloody mary's and mimosas and i can't believe people drink with breakfast and i remember i am in the south.
now there is a total fucking mob of people at the door and the mother daughter combo left sometime during chapter 8. i got here just in time. there is a fat girl in a white oxford with a silk scarf who waits to be seated and she's kind of pretty anyway. other people sit next to me. they are old and regulars and order extra bacon. i think about muslims and jews. neither one of them likes pork and i wonder why they just can't get along.
the bartender is blonde-brown and she's not really one and she's really not the other. she's drab and plain and wears light khakis and she looks washed out and i decide she really just blends into the whole cream-brown ambience of this place. a waitress in red comes up and ironically asks for a strawberry fields and i don't think she gets it and she says i don't know if i already asked you or not and laughs. the bartender snaps that she didn't and she goes to her blender to make a fruity beverage.
it's football saturday in tennessee. a family of 3 is being seated now and all 3 of them wear orange vests except for the dad who is going out on a fucking limb and wears an orange sweater vest with an orange striped polo underneath. i briefly wonder what life would be like to be that son, but i discover that i would rather think about old people or the fat girl and then i start to feel that maybe the stoli doesn't sound so bad after all and i drop the subject. the host seats another party now. right this way, he says, his lisp evident on the word this. there is a long line of people waiting to check out and the bartender swipes cards forcefully and grabs the next one and henry ford would be proud.
eventually the line of people waiting to pay is less and the mob at the door is no longer there and the whole place is quieter except for the sound as people eat and i pick up my check off the bar and leave.
a wet overcast day. it is almost raining now. i go to a deli for lunch, not my usual spot. i get a roast beef sandwich, or that is what they sell me. i am not entirely convinced that is what i am eating. it is memorable in the same sense as sinking your teeth into the front bumper of a buick would be memorable. the roast beef is actually more like plastic or maybe kevlar. rubbery, not even chewy. thoroughly inedible. a stringy 95 year old cow weaned off its lifelong diet of concrete. i decide to give up on the sandwich before dislocating my jaw. the whole experience mystifies me because this place is actually crowded. the only explanation i can offer is that as i look around most of the single moms in prada do have that glazed over stoned on prozac look about them.
to erase this perversion of the palate i go up the road and order a double latte. i regret not bringing my book inside as there is a long wait for drinks. instead i read the cover of the times, the local paper and the article on coffee that is posted on the bulletin board. i look up to spot a blonde in light cream slacks and black sandals. we make eye contact if only but for a moment, just long enough to connect and then both look away. eventually the girl behind the counter calls my drink. as i empty a solitary packet of sugar into it, i am hit by a wonderful smell, like cinnamon and vanilla that transcends the aroma of espresso that fills the room. it is subtle and delicate like creme brulé, not like a cinnamon scented urinal puck. it takes a minute to realize that this scent comes from the blonde standing behind me waiting for her macchiato. elle est délicieu.
mexican food. tonight i go with a book and eat chips and salsa and it is loud. a guy who is probably my age or maybe a little younger is holding a baby. they watch the margarita machine as it chops ice making all kinds of whirring grinding noises to pacify the kid. i guess if the kid can see it he won't be scared. maybe you could just give it a small sample, instead. i mean if it will keep it quiet, i won't say anything about not carding the little guy or anything if you don't.
i leave and drive down a street that i usually drive coming the other way during the day. i never realized how many liquor or dollar stores there are on this street. i think i see the hair school that christian was talking about. counting crows comes on the radio and i remember going to the show last year. i met some guy who was like a biochemist or something in a bar. he had 4 tickets and we end up riding in the back seat of his friend's car to the show with some guy from austria and i think it was the last time i smoked marijuana. i'm pretty sure the lead singer was drunk. tonight the main road is uncomfortable and i turn right at the first street that i know is not a dead end. i drive a few hundred yards and there are a series of signs that say speed hump. i drive over a couple of speed humps until i can't take any more and then turn left.
morning. the uber bosses are coming to work today. press your shirt. make it flat. drive for coffee. faster. must have sustenance, a small detour to the bakery. outside a dank sour-sweet garbage smell intertwines with cigarette ash to serve as a strange reminder of my childhood.
work.
as i drive home, tori amos comes on the radio. i am a closet fan. i turn up the stereo, turn up the bass just a little. the music is textured and clean. i punch my car into fifth as i merge onto the freeway. i open the sunroof. i wash away the day with autumn air. there are leaves still alive that will loiter a few more cool nashville nights, waiting to be evicted. turned into mulchy ground cover to be forgotten, recycled, reborn.
home. claustrophobia. monday night football. a reason to celebrate, no?
i sit at the bar, order my beer. they are out of hefe-weizen. actually not all hefe-weizens only the one that i want. i order a disappointing substitute. i drink silently. no one to make idle banter with. silence. the only thing worse than sitting at home talking to no one is going out and talking to no one. eventually i ask someone for a cigarette. it relieves some of the tension but not all. is this how people get hooked on drugs? a guy sits next to me at the bar. he is a computer guy of some sort. i ask him what he does when he is not a computer guy and he says nothing. his name is joel. i leave.
on the way home, i watch as a black man is arrested by campus police near the university. there are two cop cars. the officers do their job. they take the man into custody. custody. they will lock him up for something he may or may not have done. to be determined.
i make it home. a day of mashed potatoes with no gravy.
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