…the sound of shopping carts bouncing along unpaved ground echo through the alley under my window. the rain bellows, and there’s music coming from somewhere. wakeup call is 4:45am. sleep is slow to come.
caffe job. restaurant job. bachelor apartment downtown. design course. distance course. dropout course. growing older. this.time.last.year? poem.
so, i’m going to ask you what people always ask when you have a birthday… geoff looks up and sideways at me from behind his spectacles as he fills up a plastic cup for the start of an iced americano… do you feel any older? i answer genuinely, no. and he agrees that there would never be a reason to actually feel older. it’s just another day. i continue putting dirty coffee mugs into the dishrack and he swivels to face the exprezzsso machine.
ssSSFFtt. the steaming wand sings. i lift the rack of dirty dishes into the mini washer and think a thought that’s frequently run through my head lately:
i’ve been washing dishes, and polishing cutlery for nine years.
cole (my manager/ coworker) and i are standing the sunny sunday afternoon away inside our west broadway caffe. as we chat about space balls, jurassic park, and magazine concepts, i am scribbling in my ideasbook. (i’ve been doing this frequently in an attempt for creative genius to shine through with +A material for the graphic design course i’m taking this semester. thankthelord madeline does this for a living and isn’t uptight about offering a “little” help mere hours before deadline..)
i rip out the page i’ve been doodling cursive all over and hand it to cole. this page’s idea is more literal, and reads something along the lines of:
i think you’re fabulous. i love this caffe, and the coffee is sublime. however, i must quit.
if this man were my professor, my grade would not be passing. this sucks, gala. he says. i look dumb, and try to look kind. but, i’ve probably still got bags under my eyes from working a series of 45 hour weekends, so my facade may be wearing away.
“you smell like coffee!!”
sabrina laughs as she leans out of white wine toast. a fun friday night spent on the patio of this bachelor apartment situation i’ve waltzed into. it takes 30 seconds by bike for me to cross the train tracks to the seaside seawall serving gig i’ve also landed for the summer.
“listen, stick another glass of wine onto our bill, and drink it when you’re finished work!”
the sweetest duo buys me a drink on saturday night as they enjoy the sunset on false creek after two days of lounging on their sailboat. i kindly refuse once, and willingly accept when they insist the second time. the shining sun makes a granville bridge silhouette and sailing masts texture the foreground like a fantastical collage. i swear i almost sit down at the table with the kind people i’m serving.
i’ve written a poem below. but, consider yourself forewarned. the following verses may sound melancholy. do not be alarmed. rather, look at these fabulous images by tj watt once you’ve finished reading. xo.
windy shore. windy shore. windy shore.
pages blow. legs prickle. boats stand. sea ripples.
dog bows. kitchen cooks. sign glows. ferry goes.
bridge flows. north shore lights up. singer in the park. music in these speakers.
us and our tools. they and the ones they love.
thought filled and written word. read by me. each day of the celebration weekend.
a lazy pen and a sobbing sinus.
fond memories & quick release. customer service paranoia.
a heavy soul for a couple of weeks.
design class this week insists that i create a magazine cover and inside spread. i’m thinking of calling it ROOSTER. or, The Roost: agriculture // environmental culture. what do you think?