Tuesdays at Norm's

He'd only heard of this world in Tom Waits tunes, Hollywood...movies. Not too familiar here. He was losing his will in this place, Norms Diner, drinking filtered coffee and eating two scoops of ice-cream from a bowl. Meticulous, withdrawn.

On the corner of La Ciegnega you could see him through the clear plate windows, not as lost as he seemed. From an outside perspective you could almost think he fit the picture.

"things aren't too bad...I could be lost at sea", he ponders
"then what do you do? Fish, eat, wait and survive the days best you can...picture death or avoid it with delusion. Think about the cremer the waitress might bring any second...she re-fills for the third time. How many people have drank from this cup?"

He recalls the taste of beasts, red blood flavour of sirloin, smells perfumes of the sea, mineral perfumes. He breathes out slow whilst the waitress casts a sideways glance.
The streets are so straight, traffic stops and starts, brake light red, traffic light greens that guide the city tide. This dangerous earth.
He wanders who it is that pays all these people to dress so smart? to walk these streets? Perhaps a wind blows to stir the tree and the US dollar is gathered by the quick and deep pocketed people whilst the rest are left to search the vacant streets for trees of their own. All he wants is a re-fill of coffee, another shot at the lights just to hear them go "POW!" when you hit it.

The black liquid comes as does relief and addictions circular motion continues without relent.

"We're all stuck, all reliable on someone, something or anything but ourselves." he challenges himself.
"How do i get 'there'? Where is the best spot to buy film near here?"

He feels better for coming here... to Norms Diner, leaving thoughts out there in the air, where birds will intercept, formulate the seed that might gently fall and find soil, good or poor, to begin its journey back skyward to reach some other eternal traveler.