Underground Diaries

Today I went to “The Other Coffee Place”. It’s in the path, beneath the financial district towers. Usually a big lineup, just one person making espressos, cappuccinos and lattes. The coffee is good, worth the wait. There is a TV screen suspended in the corner, silent, just flashing bad news headlines. Florence Welch is wailing in the background, the suits are networking. Everyone sort of looks the same, due to the financial district unwritten dress code. I feel the same way about the financial district as Natalia Ginzburg felt about England.

The guy making coffee calls my name, I grab my coffee and he gives me the “have e a good day” bye. I like the way he says it, not too enthusiastic, maybe genuine. I sense that he is there in body, but not spirit. Hope he is just passing through. The guy before him stayed for a few months and disappeared. He was Irish or British, quick and more up than this guy. Not sad.

Reader, you will note some degree of deja vu in my posts. Recurring themes, I suppose. I’m becoming an old codger, dwelling on my preoccupations and pet peeves. Like people who use “Thanks!” at the end of all their emails. Too much cheer.

At the “Healthy Butcher”, Elvis Costello singing “Oliver’s Army”. How perfect that is.


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