Transmission 12.29.2011 A Clean Well-Lit Room
There’s a restaurant near my apartment that I like to go to from time to time. At this point, I’m a “regular” and I feel comfortable sitting there, reading or working n my computer as I wait for my food. During the day and on weekends, it’s a madhouse; they do a huge lunch-time hustle. They have great coffee, which is a prerequisite for me.
My favorite times to go there is weekday nights. They shut the kitchen down at 17:00 and re-open at 18:00 for dinner. It’s usually quiet, only a handful of people, hanging out, checking their Facebook pages, drinking microbrew beer and eating dinner. It’s cool the post up and be alone.
The irony is that when you’re alone in this town, you’re really not alone. We’re all these islands, millions of islands in a concrete and steel ocean. We come in intimate contact with thousands of people on a daily basis yet I only know the names of a handful or people. I look to my left at the dude with the ironic beard; what’s his deal? Some guy just ordered a bagel with the insides scooped out, I suppose he’s concerned with his starch intake. I would suggest body-weight squats and kettlebells, eat the bagel as it was intended to be consumed.
Maybe it’s better that I don’t know any of these people.
Later on I’ll be sitting in my apartment. Nobody will be there except for me and my cat. It will feel like I’m alone, but in reality, someone else will be sitting about 8 feet away from me, on the other side of the wall, believing that he is alone as well. Sometimes this fact keeps me up at night.
New York City; the loneliness machine.