guten morgen Sonntag

I stayed up late listening to records and drinking beer by myself. Drinking alone. Playing records, pretending that I'm DJ'ing a dive bar. Favorit perhaps. Where Luke and I would go and hastle the DJs asking if they had Yeasayer or Panda Bear. I woke up at 6:45, disoriented as usual. My body wondering why it's being disturbed at such an unusual time of the day. I got dressed and stumbled out of the house, feeling tired but not hungover.

The air was misty and clean. It's been raining for the past four days and it finally cleared out leaving a residual dampness typical of early spring. There was fog covering the distant mountains creating the perfect backdrop for the little city of Roanoke tucked away in the mountains.

I drove by Mill Mountain. The star had been left on, mysteriously. It usually gets turned off at midnight. It glowed eerily in the pre-dawn haze. I brewed the coffee and started the day, feeling better than I should have. The usual crowd of homeless people gathered around the back door. Already a faint smell of cigarette smoke mixing with the brewed coffee and espresso. I can't help but pity them. They come in the coffee shop looking for a place to sit after the rescue mission makes them leave. They remind me of Steinbeck's or Kerouac's America. Someone ordered a slice of lemon cress pie with his cup of coffee. That's such an old tradition, I thought. Coffee and pie for breakfast. Kerouac survived on coffee and pie as he treked accross America, looking for...whatever it was he was looking for. They buy coffee for each other. I imagine them hunkering down in the shelter after a long day walking around the city. One passing the other a flask or a cigarette, or some small favor that meant the world to the other and offering to meet up the next morning so the favor could be returned.

I wonder where the paths diverged that separated me and them. How am I in a warm bed writing on a laptop and they're bedraggled and tired with nothing but a jacket on their back? I say I pity them, but aren't I the one serving them coffee and cleaning up after them? They are a part of the city, a part of humanity. I have to remind myself of this as a man asks abour our refill policy, settling on a cup for here, then asking for his free refill and taking a cup to go while I wasn't looking. I finished up the shift feeling tired, but reminded of how lucky I am to be behind the counter.

Fruhling kommt wieder...

The air is cool and crisp, but not like it feels in the fall. It's fresh with cool dampness interspersed with pockets of warmth. I fell alive and awake. It's amazing the impact that the seasons have on our dispositions. The pace of life has finally settled into a rhythm I can keep up with. It's not full of the extremes that I'm used to. I'm not moving again in the summer. The Spring used to remind me of when I would pack up and leave. Moving to the next appartment, house, cabin, Oldsmobile. I still have the feeling that I'm going to abandon whatever I'm doing and trying something else. I know I'll have to find another job, but I'm not moving. In a way, it's calming. I'm not thinking about starting to pack everything up as part of my spring cleaning.

In other words, I feel good.