They had not yet bombed Boston and that action has only the knowledge that buying heroin in Afghanistan when the tea is a
tad bitter results in frantic frenzied selling of stocks as tobacco is illegal but heroin isn’t. Onions and potatoes always share the
same root in linguistics. Often wrong tart de torte inherent to compliment raison the more educated and better economically
placed, aware of the planned predestination with tyranny’s inclusive mystery leaves only the option of abandoning any sense of
equanimity, often misunderstanding the true nature of mankind when desperation is the only thing served with champagne, after
all women are still chattel to make an alliance with one seems questionable but in the end they both upon their first encounter
understood the compliments of intellect that are repetitions of utterance making time with the umbrella stand to a culture who can
say tea in ten different ways and fabriquer 10,000 more umbrellas… and of how many ears errant men in the diners carry away
wasted food marking time for their own perceived salvation? One broken coffee cup being five broken coffee cups but no one had
inventories of broken dishes for comparison.
Women of the street… to isolate one waitress within the mix within this system of corruption is the work of women most often
and not men. The illogical nature of watching another suffer begins with the easiest target and the glorification of building the
surmountable tableau of bad tidings builds the nouveaux feministe to instill the pattern of preparatory installation, yet more
stepping stones around Begonia garden paths with the understanding, now they hold a place with the Gardner that prefers to deal
with her husband. After all, a financially secure husband comfortable in his own doting nature is sure to notice any dip in his own
pocket book, the amusements of his wife only skin deep in the knowledge that whatever target she acquires has no effect on his
own umbrella. It only becomes an issue if the Gardner quits one day and the Gardner never quits and never entertains his wife
but ensures new targets are the eye of vengeful entertainment for no other purpose rather than the shrill of a once proud person
being reduced to a fear hugging drone robbed of vanity and justice for the simple reasoning that his wife feels somehow
empowered by the humiliation of another. Having no moral dilemma with the nature of his spouse the stepping stones might need
some mulch of color to spring color into one’s gate.
That was how the other side lives, then there are the impoverished. Never having considered himself quite without and
enough to live and eat, Yulan Gibbartas reconsidered the assessment after discovering the average salary at a firm was
considered by the standards of the national statistic to be classified as poverty level. It became more apparent when he
discovered teachers made his profession a form of odd job for additional income and that the system was rigged and he was the
equivalent to a pizza delivery man in the large scale of life as those who could readily find him clients or hire him liked his social
character to remain where it was. These things annoyed him as much as the assumptions about his heritage concerning his
given name. People assumed he was from Canada or Bolivia or some other irritating suggestion. His mother and father both
worked and after his mother was laid off from being a secretary she just kept saying things like I just can’t find a suitable position,
or maybe they will make some new offices when someone buys one of those buildings downtown. His dad went to work every
day and said we were lucky your grandfather knew how to save. There must be another way, he looked at the cup of coffee and
Steam Well
understood immediately if he walks to the left or to the right the traffic is always the same. If he returns to get a law degree they
already have the lawyer stack set up thirty years to the future. Just ran plumb out of luck is just the city race that people stand in
the street for begging for any influx of money but it’s never enough. There was one person he found a common stance with,
another subject of objectification in the system. Graduation was coming closer and his muffin bagel stroganoff was also
graduating but the thought of an upstart… he already knew for most was a front to keep several sets of books, that IT gal, he
already knew was always yesterday’s lasagna and this was not 1955. Being broke instilled financial survival as instinct if he ever
wanted his mother to stop worrying he needed a sure thing and there is no sure thing being honest. He felt bad, he knew even
his waitress was being a little too friendly from time to time when strange men came in but he couldn’t figure out why all the
sudden that was so normal for everyone. At some point it became an expected behaviour. But he knew her boyfriend was a
pickpocket, a very good pickpocket. He already knew how money was dishonest and if money was honest those men would
never have a chance with that waitress. He just knew his parents never go out to eat and to think to pay three dollars for a coffee
would be something they would do only if they were on vacation but they never have this mystical thing called vacation. They
cancelled the cable knowing that the shows hired the ones, who from their point, betrayed them all. He was lucky, he felt safe in
his own thoughts. He really was that paranoid that he never have an opinion, but the ketchup top was always dirty and society
didn’t understand that a month ago they never were. He snapped out of his thoughts when some anorexic looking blond walked
in, shoulder length hair straightened, he thought she would have a hair beret to match her dark black frame glasses but she never
did. She said she was a painter Julie Tippit. He had listened to her line before. He smiled and understood why the waitress
smiled and moved the silverware tub underneath the counter where she has been stacking silverware filed paper napkins, Tippit
had an old lesbian friend she hung out with and her fan brush didn’t have any pancake syrup but seemingly he recounted the one
day he had a little paper ring when he ordered a streak to celebrate a good test score and never had one since, she could try the
sugar free if she liked. They were still making bets if it was her or her friend that Asian nurse was marking time on at the
diabetic-commercial hospital for hospice people.
His back end booth became all the sudden seemingly shrunken, a tad bit too crowded. The other server walked in suddenly,
“hey let me help her.” Yulan left his money on the table after catching her eye smiled softly and left not wanting to hear what ever
story the blond has this time, after all no one knew how she kept paying her rent. His waitress, skirt with pockets, was still missing
her apron.