Slacker

As a Floridian I hate to admit that New York City summers kick my ass, making me sluggish and slightly disoriented.  These last few days particularly difficult for me as I sport a mid summer fever, that as usual is a result of lack of sleep and a brief period of chain smoking. It's almost two in the morning and Files and I are standing on the West 4th humidified platform discussing our very young adult hood, when we first struck out in the world.  "How the hell do younger kids just own $2,000 laptops now? I remember barely having enough money to eat", "It's a different time".  Then we briefly discuss how dumpster diving was actually done to supplement meager means at the time (well for some of us any way).   We just got out of watching Slacker at the theater at West 4th  and the film had triggered a nostalgia in us, reminiscing about when our lives were fairly similar to the movie.

Just an hour before the movie I was eating nachos, sitting in the entryway of a closed Starbucks with an old friend.  We reviewed old "love affairs" that had circulated in our friend group over the years and passersby stared at us, their brains trying to process if we were homeless, injured, drunk or all three.  Who sits on the sidewalk on 7th and 24th, for a dinner of nachos as if they do it everyday?  We do.

Today ran into a buddy from Chattanooga at a local coffee shop I usually avoid.  He was telling me how he is almost done with school and is looking to become a Latin teacher.  That the "old guard" is dying and younger scholars of Latin such as himself are poised to take over.  I nod and comment approval on his smarts and he responds, "It's just my thing and everyone has their thing".   His comment contributes to my internal dialogue of the week, what does it mean to be "special"?  Which all began while washing dishes preparing dinner with friends.  Listening to a song in Spanish, that our host was translating and interpreting, I'm looking down at my hands and arms, shiny with water and soap, gliding over one green plate after the other.  I realized that I had thought the song was a love song, singularly isolated to make only one individual special.  He had interpreted it as a spiritual song on how all things were special.  This is the correct interpretation.    

There is no time of my life that I don't want to include moments such as these.