I ate lunch out by the river. That is, if a banana and my 19th, 20th, and 21st chocolate chip cookie within the past twelve hours counts as lunch. I feel like eating iceberg lettuce with lemon juice for the next 12 days—that is, if that tasted like cookies but didn't make me feel sick.
As I brought my water bottle to my lips, I looked up to see a face through the trees mirroring me, drinking from a bottle. I could barely make out the face in the brush.
There is someone living across the river. I noticed a couple weeks ago as I was walking that through some of the thick brush between the east bank and the chain link fence behind the the storage compound is a little settlement. You can see the blue tarp and some wooden structures—maybe a cot, and on occasion, a duck pecking around, and even, on occasion, the being that lives there.
You really wouldn't notice this residence with all the trash around the river—I forgot about it between two weeks ago and today until that man (is it a man?) was drinking at the same time I was. This is the introduction to my imaginary conversation with this man:
“Yoo-hoo! You there! Are you living on the river?”
“Doesn't everyone?” he would say, wisdom seeping from the gaps in his smile.
“The Walden type, eh?” I'd reply.
“Have you met my duck?” he'd call back.
“Oh, no actually.”
“His name is Martha. Martha Stewart.”
“Martha Stewart is a man?” I'd say.
“Isn't everyone?” he'd reply.
I decided not to start this conversation today because it's something I would want much more than a half-hour lunch break to delve into. Hence, another reason working for the man doesn't suit me. No time to talk to the man across the river.
I know he must have so much to say.
2 comments:
That guy is friendly, he called out one morning while I was running. I'm glad things are warming up for him!
How interesting. I wonder what he would say.
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