Hello winter sun. Konnichiwa 7 o’clock. Come out but wrap up, baby it’s cold outside. You have places to go and no one you know. Your steps are dots and lines on a moving map. Make sure you can retrace them. Only you can know the way back, and your hands are cold. ‘I have donuts to find today,’ you say. ‘Old clothes to try, art to touch.’ The cafe is hidden among crooked paths, wandering men and weathered streets. But you find it. You settle in. The coffee is ok, the song they’re playing is better. It’s just the one song, playing over and over and over and over and over. Like a thought on loop. Like a dream on repeat. Like that haunting sound, that fleeting thing that folds beneath you when you attempt sleep. By your fifteenth minute, you have memorized the words. You step out and you’ve forgotten them all. How easy for beautiful things to slip away. You look for the train, squeeze your way in, find your next stop. You see the neon lights, the singing billboards, the faceless rushing mob and it feels like home. The sun has long gone and the moon refuses to show and it’s cold, baby it’s so cold. The lights flicker and die, storefronts saying good night while you, you, you press on. Onward, forward, move. Surely there’s one more open door, a cafe, its warm yellow light, a final cup of coffee and a song to make you feel less alone.
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June 20, 2018 and February 25, 2018
