June 16, 2017

As I walked into the restaurant, my lungs filled with the pretty perfume of jubilant youth as I beheld most seats taken and a constant chatter, movement, cackles and moronic mannerisms. The furtive femmes and the less-than-genlte gents didst ballet in their not so subtle subtleties. The only thing that impeded a jarring avalanche of jealousy, was the notion of such neurotic behavior already visited in decades prior by yours truly.

Must I share space with these slobbering sycophants, I wondered while adjusting my glasses and unlocking my knees as I approached the line to the cashier. Coughing and cell phones in hand, the herd almost crawled over tables and booths to capture moments dubious of merit; their moment was yet a moment to be, and for whatever reason, had to be immortalized and eventually confirmed by those not present. The subjects who were to be the confirmers, on an alternate and authoritative universe known as Facecrook, were having their own monumental moments, no doubt. Instafag, Titter, Mumbler, MyCraze, Chatsnatch, and countless other social media outlets awaited mankind with the gracious promise of unification, by ironically, segregating him with glowing small screens.


I exhaled deeply and began to ignore the veracious voice at my side, with its taunting words of trembling truth: “This is your species.”

“There is hope,” I proclaimed mildly feigning conviction.

“There is no escape. You don’t belong with them.”

“Not all of them are sheep.”

“Find me at least one and I shall grant you peace tonight.”

“The girl over there…the one with the image of a doubled theater on her shirt.”

“You think simply a quick read into Artaud grants her the integrity of individuality?”

“Peace is worth fighting for, ” I said as I approached her and sniffled at an attention-grabbing volume. “Excuse me.”

“You scared me, ” she said with black and long beautiful raven feathers for hair.

“That’s a great shirt,” I said smiling kindly, “it really brings out your icy-blue gorgeous eyes.”

“What?!” she said alarmed and clutched her electronic tiny savior to her chest and walked away head down, almost rushing out of sight.


“You are right, I don’t belong,” I said turning the ignition of my car in the parking lot and drove away as I caught a glimpse of the young lady in black locks–she was holding her cell phone in the air, while she puckered up her lips, head held up high, in my rearview.