Easter Dinner

Easter Dinner

It was on the sidewalk of Baker st. that I ran into someone that I dreaded speaking too. Actually, I was sitting pressed against the leather seats of Sidewinders Coffee shop
having my usual double when I looked straight into her eyes and she mine. Now it is a common fact that in a city surrounded by mountains, people naturally tend to either cocoon themselves-or go nuts.
 
 In that sense, it is not the least bit surprising that Nelson is a sort of refuge for strays, draft dodgers  and eccentrics. So, when crossing upon someone you know, while it is common chivalry to say hello and smile with that fake generic smile we use so often in public, its a hell of a lot easier to just pretend that you don't remember that person or smile vacantly off in the distance, eyes glazed over like some delicious, fattening doughnut- until people get the drift.

  For me especially,  this guilty pleasure  is even more of an asset, as I see the same old homeless bums I work with out on the streets wailing pathetically with their guitars, or spiting spiteful comments to themselves or each other on how "fucked up" our society is. I walk past them everyday and turn a blind eye to it all. Its just too damn intimate here sometimes. Anyways, I recognized my friend Jenny right away. She worked at the store I used to work at where I stocked generic beans, wore a generic uniform and spoke generic words to a generic "fucked up" society. She looked at me, I looked at her and we pretended not to "see" each other. But shortly after, during my sleep deprived saunter down baker street, while I was trying to absorb whatever dying rays of sunshine I could- we met again and were forced to engage in awkward, yet endearing conversation. Jenny keeps inviting me out for dinner and I keep saying  I'll make it out for dinner someday-when we both know the inevitability of the situation. Then, its the usual so "how are things going at the store" small talk that keeps playing itself out  every time we meet like a painful broken record.

 And still its goes on and on like groundhog day. I sit, drink my coffee and either pretend I don't know people I actually know or engage in safe conversation- because no one wants to hear the truth anymore. And I pass the same bums on the same street with that same vacant stare-because its easier that way.They will play the same songs that appeal to the same types of rich yuppies wearing  their shiny 400 dollar  "North face" Jackets who will, out of a moment of nostalgic sympathy , dish out 2 bucks whenever they hear "Imagine" blaring out from the same busker everyday. Meanwhile, I keep my eyes focused on the pavement..