Snow, Lattes, and Staring at the Wall
It’s quiet except for the exceptionally motivated nocturnal shoveler
He wonders if he can figure it out. Time after time (not the Lauper song) he stares at the wall. Fortunately tonight he has snowfall and a latte tailor made for him, because he made it-for himself. He types as if he is the author of the story because he probably is or how would this get typed. The snow glimmers in the moonlight, but the streetlights help. He (the guy in the story) notices all the vehicles have eyebrows. At fourth glance he realizes the wipers are standing at attention. He takes a break from staring out of the window. He takes a longer break from staring at the wall. As he sips his latte he fantasizes about being at a cafe in Munich, on the Leopoldstrasse, sitting outdoors, alone, sipping on a cappuccino. This hot drink tastes so good during the dead cold of winter. January in this part of the country can bring tears to your eyes. Contemplation (staring at the wall) continues. In between words (writers block), he cleans his iPad screen and realizes that the speck he removed has been replaced by fingerprint swipes. This, he realizes is ironic and a conundrum and could cause more wall staring, because swiping with fingers is part of navigating the iPad. He looks at the use of the word iPad twice already and wonders if he should replace one of those with tablet. But, it isn’t a tablet is it? It’s and iPad and he probably wants whomever (wait, whoever or whomever? Shit!) to know that he has an iPad. The latte has opened things up for the owner of this piece. At the beginning there was a hesitancy, a holding back if you will. Now, because of the security found in being warm, cockiness is pouring out on the page. Getting this puffed-upness under control would take either venturing out into the snow streets, or staring at the wall, the basement wall. He realizes that he will only have a combination of the snow, lattes and staring at the wall for a short time; as the snow will melt by Tuesday, the Verismo pods will run out, and the only constant is the walls. He is surrounded by walls (technically, floors and ceilings are walls, so yes, he/I are surrounded by walls).
This is just a far out story. Not sure what you would call it. I love it. So if you read it, let’s not label it. No classifications. Let’s just be silent and stare in wonder like in a museum. You know, when you sit or stand, no one else is around, and you feel as though you have swallowed a mouthful of culture? Yes. That. This.
MM
