Furnace
Ex-Bluelighter
A047
39 more people until my turn.
39 more days (more or less).
Across from me sits a short girl,
hair long, body lean,
worn-out Nikes,
she sits cross-legged.
In front of me, her lips,
thin yet defined,
an image of beauty
in this waiting room.
A048
38 more people,
still 39 more days.
She leans back,
reading a free weekly tabloid,
so she's probably wondering,
while sipping her mocha,
"what's on deck for the weekend's activities?"
Her hair rests gently on
her shoulders, which
she doesn't cover
while I write furiously,
wearing three jackets.
A050
36 more ppl,
still just as long.
$85 and 58 mins,
all I account for right now.
The packed office releases a fragrance
that can only be described as
"The elegant balance between
homesick immigrants and the elderly"
Around the halls walked those
who do business in business suits
to those who are trying to find
businesses to keep them busy and paid.
Yokels with ethnic names,
Natives and whites alike, disheveled and unshaved.
Young poets, bored housewives,
travelling students, the handicapped,
all these people, evident here.
A small Asian baby stares @ me,
I smile but get no reaction,
a purse in the stroller,
the baby in her mother's arms.
Feelings of fatherhood course through me,
and make me both happy and sad,
such a paradox.
This is the second time I've seen someone use
a gigantic cell phone in as many minutes.
It's huge and, yes, I think it's got
wood paneling.
I see the opposite of us walking by.
A short long haired brown woman
talking to a butchy light skinned man.
They walk and I hear one word crisply:
"Anniversary"
How odd is it when you see someone scribbling
down notes, and hope to God
they aren't writing about you.
A056
30 more people.
Still the same day.
The bathroom journey was far from exhilarating.
The Canadian forces recruitment center
was empty, so I decided to make them useful
and asked them for directions to the clearly
marked bathroom.
A backpacker with red pants is startled with
the huge lineup. Maddening, she thinks, and
sits frustrated.
I entered the bathroom, and surprise,
that stench of disinfectant and waste
waffed.
The backpacker sits across from me,
peeling off layers. She's young, but
not naive. Smart, but not pompous.
I entered the first stall, got ready to sit,
and noticed the absence of toilet paper.
I got my things, and moved next door to the
handicapped stall.
She pulls her hair into a ponytail,
while reading away on her destination.
A072
14 more people.
20 mins until my meter expires.
The smell of the water that pours out the many
fountains remind me of an indoor
skating rink. The xenon, the smell of the
hockey equipment, the sound of the blades
cutting the ice.
I enjoy the handicapped stall a lot more than
the regular ones. I'm pretty big, so the more
space I have, the happier I am.
But this stall is different. Covered and
coated with solicitations for used underwear, bottled piss, anonymous blowjobs, and toilet sex.
I pull out "White Noise" by Don Delillo, and
forget
about
the desperation
I currently sit
in the middle
of.
A079
7 more folks,
15 more minutes.
The ponytailed traveler isn't reading about
her destination. She isn't going on about
some pop-tourist destination de jour.
The couple next to me bickers about whom
initiated sex last night after putting their
kids down...to bed that is.
The husband insists that she started it by
placing her hand on his thigh.
She rebuts with when he started to
eat her out.
I choke on my water, and move away, hoping
they didn't know I was eavesdropping.
Inside the office, people wait, alone or
with friends and family.
There's a man who looks a lot like my friend's dad.
Bald, mustached, but not this flaming.
I watched him walk and smoke a cigarette outside,
and he walks like a model. It's the creepiest.
He's got tight faded Levis and a 'rugged' leather jacket.
The bags under his eyes are probably from the days and nights of crystal abuse. Was that bad?
A086
Finally, with two minutes to spare.
39 more people until my turn.
39 more days (more or less).
Across from me sits a short girl,
hair long, body lean,
worn-out Nikes,
she sits cross-legged.
In front of me, her lips,
thin yet defined,
an image of beauty
in this waiting room.
A048
38 more people,
still 39 more days.
She leans back,
reading a free weekly tabloid,
so she's probably wondering,
while sipping her mocha,
"what's on deck for the weekend's activities?"
Her hair rests gently on
her shoulders, which
she doesn't cover
while I write furiously,
wearing three jackets.
A050
36 more ppl,
still just as long.
$85 and 58 mins,
all I account for right now.
The packed office releases a fragrance
that can only be described as
"The elegant balance between
homesick immigrants and the elderly"
Around the halls walked those
who do business in business suits
to those who are trying to find
businesses to keep them busy and paid.
Yokels with ethnic names,
Natives and whites alike, disheveled and unshaved.
Young poets, bored housewives,
travelling students, the handicapped,
all these people, evident here.
A small Asian baby stares @ me,
I smile but get no reaction,
a purse in the stroller,
the baby in her mother's arms.
Feelings of fatherhood course through me,
and make me both happy and sad,
such a paradox.
This is the second time I've seen someone use
a gigantic cell phone in as many minutes.
It's huge and, yes, I think it's got
wood paneling.
I see the opposite of us walking by.
A short long haired brown woman
talking to a butchy light skinned man.
They walk and I hear one word crisply:
"Anniversary"
How odd is it when you see someone scribbling
down notes, and hope to God
they aren't writing about you.
A056
30 more people.
Still the same day.
The bathroom journey was far from exhilarating.
The Canadian forces recruitment center
was empty, so I decided to make them useful
and asked them for directions to the clearly
marked bathroom.
A backpacker with red pants is startled with
the huge lineup. Maddening, she thinks, and
sits frustrated.
I entered the bathroom, and surprise,
that stench of disinfectant and waste
waffed.
The backpacker sits across from me,
peeling off layers. She's young, but
not naive. Smart, but not pompous.
I entered the first stall, got ready to sit,
and noticed the absence of toilet paper.
I got my things, and moved next door to the
handicapped stall.
She pulls her hair into a ponytail,
while reading away on her destination.
A072
14 more people.
20 mins until my meter expires.
The smell of the water that pours out the many
fountains remind me of an indoor
skating rink. The xenon, the smell of the
hockey equipment, the sound of the blades
cutting the ice.
I enjoy the handicapped stall a lot more than
the regular ones. I'm pretty big, so the more
space I have, the happier I am.
But this stall is different. Covered and
coated with solicitations for used underwear, bottled piss, anonymous blowjobs, and toilet sex.
I pull out "White Noise" by Don Delillo, and
forget
about
the desperation
I currently sit
in the middle
of.
A079
7 more folks,
15 more minutes.
The ponytailed traveler isn't reading about
her destination. She isn't going on about
some pop-tourist destination de jour.
The couple next to me bickers about whom
initiated sex last night after putting their
kids down...to bed that is.
The husband insists that she started it by
placing her hand on his thigh.
She rebuts with when he started to
eat her out.
I choke on my water, and move away, hoping
they didn't know I was eavesdropping.
Inside the office, people wait, alone or
with friends and family.
There's a man who looks a lot like my friend's dad.
Bald, mustached, but not this flaming.
I watched him walk and smoke a cigarette outside,
and he walks like a model. It's the creepiest.
He's got tight faded Levis and a 'rugged' leather jacket.
The bags under his eyes are probably from the days and nights of crystal abuse. Was that bad?
A086
Finally, with two minutes to spare.
Makes me think I might try writing more creatively when I travel... I'm sure I'll be spending a lot of time on my own watching people.