Unwanted Self

Rifle knew about the other man in his bed. That was the problem. Earlier that day, while eating cake in the break room, he wondered who he would find when he stumbled into his dark room late that night. He wondered while Nancy stood in front of him, bellowing garbage—all he could think of was getting into bed and finding his sheets already warm. So now, in the almost dark, he rolled over, shifted his legs to the far edge of the bed, and let the clock wash his face in a thick red. The minutes slowly added up. He needed to get help—he came to that conclusion five days ago. The only question now was where to go for it. This is complicated, he thought.

Vo-Tech School

You are all on your way to a satisfying career. That is how they opened the gate, those specialists up front. Not that it was bait, or merely a lie. It’s not like they lied. He WAS on his way to a satisfying career. And stretched out before him lay a herd of round hay bales grazing on the perfect green hills under an azure sky. He played on those hay bales before adolescence. Their largeness loomed—before the war. Before all that shit. And now he was on his way back, sitting at a desk in some fluorescent room that bled technology with the smallest prick. All around swirled little pieces of the stuff that would bring him there. A child’s smile creased his lips.

Open Mindedness.

So I opened my mind. I left the small town of my youth—the lock jawed high school, the church kids flirting with their hands in their pockets. I cut the webs, and flew away to the metropolis—the offspring of human and machine, my new abode. It was scary like the dark, when I first sunk my old canoes, stroked some new ideas and people I had met. At first, I wedged my way into closed spaces where they told me stories in hushed tones. Freedom, to be, to let each moment swell to such intensity of existence, unencumbered by everything except desire. They let me feed. And then I saw it just walking down the street, this gospel, scrawled across brick, tenderly wrapping each post. My gospel. The unity of it all, I thought, staring at it in bathroom stalls. I tried to pierce its truth in three messy words. It was times like those, getting off the pee splashed toilet, wandering back to my flat, that I thought back to the old years: drew extra conclusions from the stark comparisons. Laid my new family on top of my old. And judged. The water was running in my kitchen sink, but I didn’t turn on the lights. I slumped there in the linoleum. Each moment exploded, and I just sat there with my mind open. Tears littered each cheek.

slough of despond -- stay away!

Not much to do today.
I feel like the Dead Sea.
Drinking too much coffee.
I want to be this guy.

Grain Elevators on Hiawatha. I did a u-ey to catch this shot.

Coffeeshop Facts: Diamonds Coffee

Diamonds Coffee Shoppe
1618 Central Ave NE Minneapolis
Google Map Link (actually it's in the white building across the street by the train tracks)
Directions
Website
Alcholic friendly? Yes, AA meetings in back room.
Thrift store couches = two.
Train sounds? Yes.
Maniquin with a coconut br*? Check.
Barista wierdness? Loudmouthed lesbian co-owner who says "the F bomb", and mousy emomales that play music fridays in the back.
Kids = tolerated, but not tailored to.
Dive quality = 75%
Food = overpriced sandwich w/pickle and spoon. Soup provided.
Whiteboard menu quality = 1.5 out of 5 stars which therefore equals 5 out of 5 stars.

Comments:
This classic culturally subversive urban cafe' sports all the expected 7os and older recycled pop culture ciche to give users the ability to enjoy their coffee beverage without all the guilt derived from participating in the ultra-consumer garbage slide of the Ikea slash Walmart multinational corporate factory.