Five nights a week at approximately 12:15 AM walking home through the Stockton tunnel staring at the sidewalk stepping over trash and puddles and needles and other city scenery while deeply entrenched in thoughts of the hours past, each night while on this path I pass a security guard likely on his way home, in security guard uniform of nondescript khaki pants and official blue security guard blazer, walking just as quiet and intently as I and deeply entrenched in thoughts of days past head down and moving with purpose.

Each night for nearly six months we pass in the Stockton tunnel only mildly aware of one another, never exchanging more than a glance or a nod, never speaking or saying hello or goodbye or any such pleasantries, only a merciful and somewhat forced acknowledgement that the other exists as we pass in the Stockton tunnel stepping over puddles and trash and needles and other scenery.

Five nights a week for six months this routine was un-changed, each night the same as the last, in the Stockton tunnel at approximately 12:15 AM we’d pass and nod and go on with our lives and nothing more.

Last night he wasn’t there, and I couldn’t help but worry.

The woman at the coffee house never understands, too much already rolling around in her head I suppose, waiting in line with the rest of the addicts looking for the afternoon fix to keep things moving, to keep the day moving along, waiting in line with minimum wagers behind the counter taking orders and giving attitude…

“…could I have a small coffee in a large cup please?” and minimum wager with glassy eyes and furled brow wondering back at me about why I’m asking for things not on the wall, because if it’s not on the wall it doesn’t really exist, so “I’ll have to charge you for a large” she says and makes a face and waits for me to answer, holding up the line of addicts waiting for a fix…

“I don’t want a large, I would like a small, in a large cup…”

“Well, the price of cream and sugar is part of the coffee” she says being overtly visibly frustrated and annoyed with the un-ending line of addicts piling up making her day more miserable by the second quite perturbed that someone has asked for something thats not on the wall, if only they just stuck to what was on the wall, I can make a half-caf skinny mocha whatever with foam because thats on the wall, but a small coffee in a large cup…

“I don’t want cream” I reply, “or sugar. I would like a small coffee, in a container that is large-ish or larger than what you normally put a small coffee into, nothing more, just room, the coffee needs room, that’s all, I just need the room.”

Glassy eyed miserable minimum wager blinked and paused,… and thought about things for a minute, I watched the wheels turn in her head and could see that things were not going well for her at that very moment what with the line of addicts waiting for a fix, and so I gave up and ordered a large coffee, paid for the large coffee in a large cup and dumped out enough to leave me with a small coffee in a large cup, because the woman at the coffee shop just never understands.

I just like the room…

It occurs to me, sitting on the sidewalk at some cafe, watching the rest of the world pass by, waiting for something, that I am unimportant, that I can sit here, watching, waiting, waiting for everyone else for the rest of enternity and not really have a care in the world, not worry about the government or the day after tomorrow or how long I’ll have to save to buy a condo or a trip to Hawaii, just waiting and watching the world go by, at my own pace, the fact that I’m moving in a different direction at a different speed is unimportant to the rest of the planet, and why shouldn’t it be, why should the rest of humanity have time to worry about anyone else let alone me with all thats going on in the world.

After a short interuption, it seems that everyone else is just trying to get by, to live as long as they can and play the game and buy things and make the best with what they have, as little as that may be. Who am I to pretend that I fit in to any of this.

I am terribly unimportant, and I am beginning to realize that I am terribly content in being so, even if it means that everyone else just passes me by. For the most part I am happy to be left alone, I worry less when I’m alone.

At least five people asked me if I had an extra cigarette today, not that I mind, but I do, and it’s not like I have extra cigarettes laying around, most days it seems like I have just enough.