A place for thought.

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Somebody Call The Police!

Their motorcycles were leaning at the front door; close enough to need notice but far enough away not to be a real nuisance. The two of them, in uniform with utility belts and holstered guns gave the intended impression of being comfortably sprawled in two wooden chairs but it was a lie, they were nervous. They watched, using peripheral vision, as I avoided the fly blower at the door and walked away from them and toward the ordering counter.

“Tall Americano.” I stated flatly. My speech was unnecessary the girl behind the counter had already written David on my paper cup. I gave her three dollars and put the change in the tip cup. I took my preferred seat in the corner and scanned the room, looking through the uniforms as if their chairs were empty. I settled my stare a foot to the right of the tallest officer and focused on a parking lot light standard two hundred feet through the spring drizzle, a drizzle that had the parking lot shining black and reflecting every light. The tall officer looked at me, thinking he was returning my stare, but when he realized I wasn’t looking at him he turned away too quickly, embarrassed. I allowed a hint of a smile, like the light standard had done something to please me. I listened to their conversation as they tried to make small talk, pretending they were not bothered by my presence. One kept referring to working out and having been in the Marines the other didn’t take the hint and told a story about his mother and what a truly caring woman she was. I grew tired of their conversion and concentrated more on what I was writing and on sipping my Americano. I’ll check my FaceBook page even though none of my “friends” are awake yet. I’ll finish what’s in my cup and leave the men in blue to their break.

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Air #1

She walked across the room to the corner I was hidden in and put the over sized blue mug down on the corner of the table for one, “is that about right David?” she asked, referring to amount of liquid the cup.

“Sure,” I said surprised by the table service and the concern. Not that she isn’t always kind, but the drive through lane is filled with cars and she has plenty to do.

“You didn’t have to do that, I would have gotten up,” I tell her as she walks away but the service is nice. I’m going to have to find someplace else to write. I’m getting too well known here. The coffee is good. I have no idea how much water can be added to a Starbuck’s Americano before it tastes watered down. As a test I bring in a larger cup each morning and ask for a tall. I suppose they could be giving me an extra shot of espresso and just not charging for it.

I finished my book. This last one has more substance, more of what I believe, maybe after I’m gone some great, great, grand kid will find it and say, “Wow, I’ve got some weird stuff in my genes.” It’s a soapbox. I know about five things but most of them change nothing. As near as I can see it all boils down to, “be nice.” I’m amazed at how much resistance there is to such a simple statement. The first question is usually, “who decides what’s nice?” followed by, “You?” and that’s my answer, you. I’m going to trust in each and every individual in the world to determine what is nice. Be honest with yourself and I’m fine with it. There are a few things to take into account. Are you taking drugs? If so take their effects and side effects into account. If you’ve been kicked in the head by a horse, take that into account. If you hear loud voices in your mind, remember you don’t have to always do what they say.

It’s in the new book and I don’t want to ruin it for you, but I heard a voice once. I told a guy, who was my pastor at the time; he did everything but sign me up for seventy-two hours. I thought the Bible was full of people hearing voices and he would understand. I take things too literally.

So, what do you think? A one page, stand alone, time in the life or the first page of the next book? I’m pretty sure I could do this for another seventy thousand words. I’m going to write, whether anyone ever reads it or not. I’ll be here about six and stay until around eight because that’s how long my current Mac battery lasts. Stop by and say hi, you could be immortalized in print.