Today was a bright boring day.
There was a lot of sunlight.
There was nothing to do.
Nothing rolled around in my mind.
So I dialed.
It was a random number.
Someone in a call center picked up the line.
Hello, random number company.
Hi, how are you? I said.
Fine, may I ask who’s calling?
Brewster, I said.
Hi Brewster, do you have a reference number?
No, sorry I don’t.
Alright, when was the last time you called?
I can’t remember ever having called before.
OK, how can I help you?
Can you relieve my boredom? I queried.
Laughs. I’m sorry, we can’t really help with that.
I see. What else would you be willing to talk about?
I have to go. Click.
I was a short, but pleasant call.
There’s a genre I like to call “Men with Guns”.
The guy is tough, way beyond normal.
He doesn’t care about himself or anything else.
Well, maybe a cool looking girl captures his attention.
Yeah, he has that in his life.
Usually this tough guy
is surrounded or chased
by a cabal of other tough guys
who don’t care about anything except their jobs.
I went to one of these movies recently
and didn’t care for it.
My sheets are nicely labeled.
Top or bottom.
But they no longer fit.
It’s a wonder they don’t rip.
Exhausted, I am, from heaving at them.
I went to the coffee shop but I didn’t have anything to do.
Really, I just wanted to get out.
I sat there with my laptop and typed furiously,
Making believe I was busy.
This is what I wrote:
Pretty good, huh?
Have you ever met a Glomville resident?
I met three today.
The first looked at me sheepishly as he shuffled along.
The second was arguing with her handbag.
I took a break in the Glomville coffee shop.
It was the wrong decision.
The barrista couldn’t take my order due to rapid yawning.
Why did I visit Glomville?
The door to the Engram Restaurant was see-through,
Like there was nothing there, not like glass.
We went in.
A very old man showed us to our table.
He whispered something to us as we sat down.
I couldn’t hear what he said.
He brought the menu.
The menu was see-through too.
Gradually, I found that focusing on the middle of the menu,
I could read it.
It said, “Order something.”
I ordered a salad.
The old man, who wore a cowl, brought the salad.
It looked like fake cardboard.
It tasted familiar, but a little like cardboard.
I mentioned it to Jordain, who said, “That’s the beauty of it.”
It was beautiful.
You couldn’t get a complaint out of me that day.
Jordain paid for my salad and we walked out feeling chummy.
I remember it was very sunny.
At the coffee shop the next day,
Jordain asked me if I’d like to go to The Engram Restaurant today.
I said, “No, how about tomorrow?”
Jordain agreed that tomorrow was a better time.
“I look forward to it,” I said.
He said, “You’ll love it if you love abstract art.”
That surprised me, but I said nothing.
We walked out of the coffeeshop together.
I remember it was sunny outside.