The death of him brought a great joy to the eyes of the people. There was a greyness about the exhibitionism of such joy. One couldn’t comprehend a way to take up such enormous contradiction of characteristics. The way they saw others with glazed expressions in their eyes; not happy , not morbid ,just indifferent. Like they were just happy with the fog that clouded them and would growl if you took a step to ‘clear up the air’.
Just sitting at the cafe at the edge of the cliff , I behaved like them too. Like a indifferent observer. I jotted down my observations for the tenth time , while the waitress ambled towards me , almost gliding with the coffee pot. I’ve been sitting in this exact place for a while now and haven’t found to need to get up yet. ” It’s the Air” I mumble to myself over and over again. Making excuses that I know nobody would believe. I distract myself while putting together the coffee mug, the teaspoon ,the paper napkin in a straight line but refraining from cleaning up the muffin crumbs on the table.
‘Stranger of Strangeness’ doesn’t mean a thing. It was nonsense, just like most things and maybe that’s the only reason I even let myself like it. It was actually a wisp of thought imparted to me by the homeless guy at the end of the road at the old bungalow I lived in before. Somehow the immaterial things wormed their way back into my thoughts. These questions resonate in the head , until you can’t differentiate one answer from the other. The one question that I wouldn’t battle with was ” where is my home?” . But once it was asked there was no snatching it back. Somebody across the street with the glazed eyes and a gliding motion clad in a pungent acrid green suit smiled at me. That was all I remember because everything else before that moment and that inconsequential question was forgotten.