Crisis, Alienation And Loss.

There are but a few fleeting moments of quietude every morning before the insecure mouth-breathing stunters start to roll in and attempt to regale no one in particular with tales of their commute or of moments where they find their work particularly challenging or they may flex and try to put those overpriced improv classes to work with what they misperceive to be their penetrating wit.

A few brief moments every morning and then they are gone. Forever lost. To say we cling to these precious fleeting moments like the jaws of alligators wrap themselves around the juicy limbs of small children at a southern Disney theme park is no small understatement. We guard these moments so preciously at times it borders on dementia because when the moment passes our work becomes a place of almost unendurable torment.

And what we put ourselves through to secure these moments shouldn't pass without comment no. The alarm, the stumbling to the bath, the bleary eyed showering, the shaving and not lacerating ones face and or neck and then the ponderous selection of something among countless gorgeous things to wear and still with the bleary eyes no less. The packing, the heaving, the walking, the avoiding of tweakers, beggars and urban burnouts and then the waiting and all of this is done at a most unchristian hour.

When my bus does come I am lucky if it contains only the usual other two middle-aged homosexual men with an obviously equal dislike for their coworkers as myself, but sometimes it is not just shall we call them my other two comrades. Sometimes, like this morning it includes all sorts of mess fighting with itself to be the worst guest at the party.

Stage left it was the angry homeless man who carries all his worldly possessions on an industrial dolly so he requires the crippled people steppy-lift to move his shit about on and off the bus. But entering stage right we had the former gang-banger who got himself shot and caught a case of the paralyzed and now has to drive himself around like yoda in a crippled people go-cart and also needs the steppy lift to get in and out of the bus.

When we arrived at the bus station I was almost breathless waiting to see how this Clash of the entitled UnTitans would play out, but predictably angry beat out over ex-banger because homie was in Nam and he just isn't taking any shit from this go-cart person who frankly none of us have ever seen before.

In the office now and the serenity of the early morning has already faded. The Jamaican woman with a really loud voice announced how she got free coffee from the kitchen and was going down to Starbucks to use some of their free creamer, but she doesn't know where the Starbucks is so I had to explain to her that it is downstairs in the lobby she has obviously been walking through blindfodled for the past five fucking weeks.