Some our-agers were at a real diner in New York City. The clang of real dishes, a server's crisp white towel with Manhattan clam chowder like a Chagall, in India, a friend of a friend kept making comparison between cultures. Someone who'd drank the night before trying to make sense of napkin notes. A jokester getting cynical on like a Halloween mask. Sports on the TV; JAG on another TV; and Murphy Brown on a third TV. Personal TVs, not sanctioned flat screens.
My mind wandered, up north, coming on summer. Snap peas, shoots, muddy rubber boots, slowly coming out of winter mode, people like bears.
Stick figure drawings more than "ani-may", a writer beating a character into submission. I call that housekeeping, a pudgy guy said. A woman piled receipts on top of the cartoons. Housekeeping, she said in a tight-chested high pitch.
Yes, but if a philosophy doesn't have a form, is it really philo?
Yo, Socrates, fries or onion rings?
The fizz of the soda like atoms doing their thing. Chicago, I reported on the whereabouts of some of our bards. The poets had taken the lead like running the Olympic torch through villages. "Hip Hop" had freaked out the mayors of certain cities where venue-planning was strategic for both "the peacers" and the
What to call people, my own literary self in a perpetual tea cup dangling on a string above America as a themepark.
I vill tewl yooo, the French girl finally answered to the posed question: Who would you like to beat?
All of us were hanging
in a living free-write of
Expression
Suspended from a ceiling of oppression, repression, the air near the bull's eye, target-seeking, targeted, being funneled, funneling
This place is getting downright Cuban, the jokester said coming out of the bathroom.
Customer or SalesPERSON??? The tuxedo'd asked at the Convention Center.
Both, our representative answered in a booming voice tamed professional.
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