Geneva, Days End
Another day’s grind. That sounds like a unwarranted complaint. As a matter of fact I’m an old white guy, benefiting from ruling class privilege.
There are many blue-collar tradesmen not as secure as I happen to be, to say nothing of persons of color working their way up, competing with Caucasian peers…… I have friends who’d shrug this off with a “So what?” attitude. Not I. I’ve benefited from the kindness of many, getting breaks, second chances, a helping hand — because someone felt/believed that was the right thing to do.
But then again I am a white male.
My funk no doubt, is in part due to the death of my sister. Not that we were close. We could have been closer, if some things had been different. And that, precisely, — is asking too much of life. As children we were raised quite differently. Though only two years apart in age, I didn’t enjoy playing with my sister. I know that the absence of enjoyment was not natural, it was something that I learned.
At sunset sitting in a nearly empty Starbucks, just with my thoughts. I prefer being alone. There is plenty of “action,” activity on the sidewalk outside. I do “belong” to the Geneva scene, which is not unlike Rodeo Drive, tawny Hollywood, Masarati’s, and uber-expensive, tricked out Detroit-iron pickup trucks, Capitalism’s metaled muscle.
I prefer solitude, with my thoughts.
