Romantic

New York City sets a perfect example of it.

Thinking about the many lives of folks and happenstance and levels. Street level to train level. Right below our feet a series of important events take place or right above our heads. It would be an interesting intersect, if only I had better hand skills.

When we wonder what they are doing at this exact moment, if only to imagine their reality. Heavy heart, fornicating, writing, stressing, studying, eating. Many of the actions we take day to day. But it is romanticized no? If the situation were reversed, if we were to be thought about instead, their supposition that we were in lust with another, ignorant to the reality of our taking a dump, picking our nose, or changing a tampon – how romantic is that?

That isn’t even perception, its imagination. We imagine how someone might have changed, evolved, but cannot be for sure. Our suppositions being just as colored, wild, hasty. Self indulgent?

A past acquaintance

climbed the stairs
to the attic
where he was working with another carpenter contractor.

The man was older, in his early sixties, set in his ways, but did good work at a fair price (the same for over fifteen years) and never advertised.

In fact he was almost overwhelmed with work, hence Tom.

At the top of the steep pull-down staircase was Will.
Naked
as always.

just a pair of Birkenstocks that he wore year round until his odd spray of toes wore out the sole to a point where the price of a new pair is completely justified.

“What took you so long?”

He is very matter of fact,
not joking and completely unaware of how his exposed body
(from that particular angle no less) might spark an avalanche of cognitive discourse.
After it all, Tom is a very smart man. Will likes Tom’s work, not his work ethic (if he knew how to use the internet he wouldn’t think Tom’s web site was funny).

I can only imagine how the conversation continued
or if it did
into the day
with the sweltering heat of a wooden central Texas attic as the third party.