1:45 on a Tuesday I sit here. I sit here and drink coffee while watching the world spin backwards outside of this glass and I am just confused about people. Whether wealthy or without wicked or wonderful, we are all here together.
Where the saints are both sane and insane and same with the slugs.
I sit here across from the immigrant service office that welcomed our grandparents, It has brick painted a dishonest but happy white. I watch happy and dishonest people eat and drink here. They don’t bother one another and nobody bothers me here the coffee is true and black and the beer is even better we are lucky to be here, where this glass keeps out the sidewalks and street cars.
Here at 1:45 on Tuesdays, the saint and slugs look strangely similar.
And I am really just confused about people. As I watch the world spin outside this glass and wonder why things can’t always be how they are here.