Cafe At The End Of Time (4.0)

It was a fine evening. I could see Natricia and I

were going to become pals, but couldn’t see how

she got her name, and I didn’t ask. I left after the

first set. The music was unearthly…gamelan  rondos

infused with eclectronica signatures  and Bengali

vocals. The eschaton  must have happened…at least

in the music industry. 

I walked home slowly…feeling the night air on my

face…the evening sounds of distant vehicles… I had

work to do that I didn’t even know where to begin.

It was going to be a long night. I got to my place and

went in…threw my jacket over the back of a chair…

went to the fridge and made the honorary first drink…

my desk was in front of a window looking out at the

street….the Venetian blinds were raised….there were

no street lamps directly in front of my building, so the

sidewalk was slightly more in shade right there. I

turned out the lamp in my office and looked out into

the ambient night light. The window was half open

and you could hear leaves swirling in the street….

…there was a sound…”tock”…”tock”…tock” of

a person walking down the sidewalk in a steady,

slow measure, getting closer to my building. I loved

sitting in my chair a bit back from the window, just

the glow from my cigarette visible from the street,

like Jimmie Stewart in  “Rear Window”.  observing

the flow of life of the city.  The “tocks” got louder…

he was probably about 6’3”, wearing Florsheims.

He stopped in front of my building. He was looking

away from me. He had on a fedora of some type, and

a long raincoat or overcoat. He took out a cigarette

and lit it with a zippo. By the clicks it made as he

opened and then closed it, it sounded new.

I was watching a man smoking a cigarette at night,

standing on a sidewalk. What else could I say about

that?  I could invent that he’s in some kind of plot to

get me…but that doesn’t really seem to be writing as

it does hallucinating.

“He took a puff…he took another puff…click, click,

click… he moved from side to side.”

No, I could see that shifting to writing prose wasn’t

going to be easy.

The man had finished his cigarette. He was still

standing there, his back to my window. It was late...I

couldn’t figure out why he was there….the bus stops

were at the street corners….there was really nothing

to wait for there.

                                      ****

…the man suddenly was not there. I heard a key in

my front door…the next thing I knew I was on my

back, the man on top of me, one hand over my eyes,

and a gun barrel in my mouth.  His voice was a

whisper in my ear:  “Just be glad you subscribe to

the Times.”… then, he was gone.

                                       ****

…the man walked up to my building and buzzed me.

“Yes?”  “It’s Joel”  I buzzed him in. 

“Why were you standing out there for so long? And

why did you come by so late?”

“I dunno…I felt like walking by and seeing if you

were up….when I saw your cigarette glowing through

the window I thought I’d hang out here and be mysterious…

maybe give you something to write about.”

“That’s very kind and so silly and completely useless,…

but, thanks.”

                                           ****

…the man walked up to my building and buzzed me.

“Yes?”  It sounded like “Joel’, but the voice was muffled.

I buzzed.   The person came in and it was Natricia! She

flung the overcoat open, and, there she was!  I stopped

writing for the evening…(she did leave her hat on).

                                           ****

2012…what a joke….anyone else notice nothing happened?

Let’s put it this way…no one’s come up to me yet, asking

what dimension I’m from…except Charley, and he did that

before.

                                            ****