It’s raining and it’s been raining, and it’s going to be raining. I don’t have a job anymore, I put all my future on this thing. Going to Philly, saving the world, doing this thing. I’ll spend the $40 visa gift card from the bible study customers on thrift store button-down shirts and slacks. What are slacks? Pants that are clean and smooth. Pants that make people trust you.
I’ve been reading Kerouac and obsessively listening to Lou Reed, ignoring the sexism in it all and fashioning the bits into my life to make me feel less crazy: “She said I was wasting my time but I knew she was wrong. Life is life and kind is kind.” I got coffee and read and walked home up Burnside in the rain, thinking of leaving. Every business on the street in front of me had opened after moved here. I gazed unabashedly at the faces eating in Fire on the Mountain. What is it about those people eating in there that makes me look at them like I can see right to their icey hot core in the saddest way? They look at me too, they notice me seeing them that way in their high up chairs surrounded by large televisions and hamburgers in their mouths. There is nothing wrong with the hamburger. Nothing wrong with the televisions. I do not hate them, I do not judge them. Something about that silly place just makes people feel closer to me than friends I’ve known for decades. It makes me feel guilty, it makes me feel lonely.
I am thinking now about how much everything costs. How money flows out of my hands like it’s my last night alive and the whiskey is Worth It, the bacon is worth it, the lacey second hand piratey blouse is Worth It. Now I pack it all away, broke, and try to get across the country in a suit of some kind to be trained trained trained on saving the world the professional way. Professional revolution. I’ll try anything.