A Tibetan restaurant smashed into the quiet polish neighborhood that used to be primarily filled with first generation immigrants. Two different styles of tile line the floor and a mixture of photos and poor paintings and some kitschy modern humor make up the exterior of this setback interior. Chop sticks and hot tea and an ice water. Six tables out of fourteen occupied by folks from up the street and down. Take time and set it aside. Find a space that suits you and become a fixture. Lights and televisions and some strange electronic music. Where do you go from here? Back to a headache? Under the sink, covered in water? Take the blanket out to the trash and shake your fist and call it what it is. This isn’t your past and it certainly won’t be your last. It’s the present and the future and a cacophony of shoes. It’s a rattle can paint job and a piece of history that can’t quite be resurrected to look like it once did. Words on top of words.
Pause.
Have another bite and wash it down with some more of that green tea. It feels good to stop for a second. It feels good to feel good.
Pause.
Outside cold. Inside warm. There are many among us that don’t have the luxury of choice. Many who wander aimlessly trying to find some level of unknown comfort. They exist adjacent to us. At the edge of our excess. Homeless. Vagrant. Transient. Drug addicted. Alcoholic. Criminal. Problems for the state. Problems for the feds. Problems for everyone except us.
The problem is that we have forgotten that which separates us is the same thing that connects us. The problem is that we have forgotten the importance of choice. The problem is that we have forgotten the outcomes of choice. Our distance is short. Our shortsightedness is blindness. Our blindness is ignorance. Our ignorance is our motivation. Our motivation is our accelerant. Our fire is us and there is no shortage of fuel.