—-
He prefers to sit by himself.
It does not bother him as much as it used to. He has
grown far too accustomed to it for it to feel awkward anymore.
A solitary social vagabond, guitar in hand, he attempts to turn out a
tune, to express his feelings without much success.
Although he knows the chords, he just cannot seem to make a smooth
transition from one to the next. So instead he picks a few
strings individually, even when joined together they barely ring out
over the hubbub of the surrounding environment. No one
notices. He supposes that he is a bit off beat, and tries
again, playing minor cords to reflect his view of the melancholy mood
hanging over their heads like the smoke in the surrounding
atmosphere. Observing others interactions with each other and
how they continue to feign interest in one another; perpetuated
ignorant bliss. Such a site might seem to promise a
feeling of relaxation, when just under the surface lurks the social
frustration spent privately entertaining coffee and
cigarettes.
….
He watches as they pretend to relate to
each other through a number of different mediums, coffee, cigarettes,
cars, movies, etc. Futile melodrama, nothing of any real
importance, he thinks to himself. Not like participating in
things together, sharing experiences, legitimate interests held
in common, creating relationships based on times spent with each and
every other. Frustrated by his inablity to compose a
simple song he sets his guitar down. At this he gives
pause and rests his eyes on the vacant seat taking its place next to
him on the couch. He puts his guitar away as he is
getting up and is about to leave until he looks around the room to
give the people in it one last silent regard when he catches a
glimpse of a young lady sitting in the corner of the room hurriedly
getting something out of her purse on the chair next to her and it
falls and its contents out with it.
2006-11-14
13:23:20 2006-11-14
18:23:20
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