im doomed.

so im sitting in hyena, kofenya or whatever the hell its called doing my damn linguistics work. im sitting in one of those bar chairs against the front picture window and this middle aged dude sits down, no coffee, nothing. after a few minutes he, of course, opens his mouth.
now dont get me wrong, i love strangers. i love register people and the "socrates of oxford" that i see everywhere whom i formally introduced myself to last night. its that big guy, he rides the green route a lot. I love these people. but i dont love these people when i dont get to leave.
"it must be hard to study in here, it being so loud and all" he says to me.
(in the back of my mind, i look around. people are studying. its a college coffee shop. This is a conducive environment for studying.)
No, i say, its not bad. i like it here. (well i did, until now.)
"your place must pretty bad then, pretty loud?"
No, its too quiet actually.

so it goes on like this, chatting, him intruding my sphere, but i listen. its not like i dont want to listen but its the fact that its going somewhere...you can see it. desperation is in the eyes and when you spot it, conversation doesnt matter anymore.

i keep trying to go about my work, structuring phrases into trees. he thinks its science. (no, its life in formula.) he talks about P&G, where he works. he talks about how he used to play gutiar, i think about my dad. we talk about jobs and creative outlets and he asks that god damn question.
"so are you going to write books or something?"
no, im not. but if i were to, you would be in it. so can i please have your writen consent, because i want this to be about truth. and you are so blatantly true.

johnny calls thank god for johnny. i turn in my chair, the other direction and i dont think about it because im involved in a wonderful conversation but as soon as i know the hang up is coming i know what else is on its way.

"sounds like a friend with girl troubles."
yes, you fuck and did you happen to pick up on the fact that i have sexual relations with girls? or did that one slip by you? i mean i know it was a 30 minute coversation and you would feel strange taking notes right? what the hell do you want from me and why the hell do i have to feel bad about honesty?

i pack my shit before i get off the phone. im leaving now. what now.

"so it was nice meeting you. do you want to exchange numbers?"

i dont know you. i dont want to know more than i already do. im more terrible to the people i know best so why do i feel so bad about you?

"um...well (this is called reading body language/facial expressions...o wait im sorry, those aren't that OBVIOUS because im not saying anything right? you mother fucker you have no idea what youre doing to me.) yea, i guess we could do that or something."
hello???? Hesitation? Is that your desperation? i cant do anything for you now, you're in this on your own and im sorry huney, but thats not my problem. This is the only time i advocate being a liar and you're not doing a good job. Start faking it and take it elsewhere.

he gives me his number. mike. 245-1886. says something about the answering machine. i wasnt listening at this point. i havent been listening for awhile. i leave. i walk quickly.

but this is the thing.
im sitting in a coffee shop and im listening to everyone. im even listening to the conversations on the other side of the glass. im thinking about these people i'm not having direct contact with. im just as creepy. but as soon as you say something, as soon as language, your voice, leaves your head in the same voice it was contrived, you've given it away. this is the point when mystery becomes ash and this is the point when you become more than just a stranger, this is the point when your intentions become scary and no one wants to know what you want.