thejackal

Somewhere beyond logic, somewhere beyond my reasoning, in the back of my head where it's quiet and few would think to go, there is a small cafe. It has the smell of a good supremo colombiano and espresso. The roads leading there are cobblestone, though I dont pay much attention to the smaller details. I go there sometimes to be alone, though most of the time rather unsuccessfully. I sit there in this cafe in my mind with an open notebook or perhaps a slice of pie and stare off at something just above the heads of the walkers-by and just below the clouds. I don't know, it's just one of those places I always wanted to be and always enjoyed thinking about. I guess if I was imagining Paris, this would be my favorite street corner. Perhaps if I had more imaginary iniciative, I would have run everyone off...I mean, this is my head we're talking about. There are two characters who are almost staples there in that place and have been for years. They sit there for hours on end, arguing over the most pety things. Picture these two with me if you will, a herlquinn in black and red attire, his shoes with curved toes and little bells on the tips. He wears his make up with pride, (i think he may have been in the National Union of Clowns and Entertainers, Im not sure though) a cigarrette normally hangs lazily from his lip, especially when on break...where he comes down to the corner, I think his name is Charlie, I never remember to ask for some reason. He usually sits with a manequinn, I always wanted to call him Mannie, but I'm sure he hears that all the time. His name is actually James, but they call him Jimmy. Jimmy is your typical manequinn, slightly pale, glazed eyes, designer clothes that most of us can't afford, he always looks good. I once nearly asked him what he did to keep his hair so well, then I remembered that he just had it painted on. Jimmy and Charlie always sit a table over from me, but always talk just loud enough for me to hear. If only you could sit there with me and listen, to a harlequinn and a manequinn talk on the little things and argue all day long.

One might begin, "you're an abomination to your cause harlequinn, you are simply a tool for capitalism and the amusement of the masses." and the other would retort "Jimmy, you're a good for nothing commercialist stiff, ya know that?..." For hours, they might sit over cold coffee and argue "you're simply not as clever as perhaps you think you might be." or "Why dont you just go stand in a window somewhere?". As I listen to them in morbid fascination, I lose myself in thought, just above the heads of the walkers-by where I see men argue about something or other, to no conclusion. Adding always insult to injury, perhaps arguing about politics or religion, perhaps philosophy or commerce. It all sounds the same in the end. It's always the same thing. We gouge each other's eyes out from across a table and then... a cell phone rings?

the harlequinn pulls a phone from his pocket and apologizes "hold on a sec would ya?
Hello?
Yeah, no problem, I'll be there in a few. K? yeah, yeah...tell them all I said hello.
You guys will have to excuse me, I've got an appointment." to the ever-gracious reply of the manequinn "oh, no problem old friend, I'll see you again tomorrow?" as charlie stands he mumbles "yeah, yeah" And then the passers by from nowhere to nowhere and the hustle and bustle of the street corner drown out whatever else.
I just sit and drink the rest of my coffee or stare over their heads.
There's something quaint about this place in my mind.

Yes...it's always the same thing.