Okay, so maybe it does get better.
Maybe you show up to work a little early and you get to sit on the beach.
Maybe the 50 minute commute turns into a 15 minute one (and when you tell them on the phone, they can't tell the difference).
I wonder if they want me here tomorrow.
Okay, maybe last night instead of sleeping I was making big plans.
I get breaks here at this record store for a half hour a day. We run parallel to Ocean Dr., where all the bougie girls wear their sequen and drink margaritas. Here, where no one really lives, is where the tall glasses with those umbrellas made their name. I walk faceless and alone through this crowd, because for now, these are my streets, and they're the faceless, and they're going home.
Where they stop at corners and main street attractions, I know people's names behind counters halfway down Washington Ave.
I've been here for four days.
I drink coffee under palm trees.
I meet europeans who fish for words in my language as I try my best to be articulate in my line of questioning. Beyond small talk, I'm meeting characters on their own stage. One day, I hope to be in their shoes. Some ageless Londoner writes on his laptop, "I meet americans who swim in yankee accents..." and the list goes on, me on my stage.
I met a girl in Jersey who liked to sketch.
I think I look for her sometimes, because she's my type of people.
She guessed our age.
Next time, I'm bringing shorts.
Today, on my clocked out, unpaid half hour, I'm going to Urban Outfitters on the strip to scope out some slip-ons.
Lesson One: Expect nothing from anyone, even if they're the Everyone.
Lesson Two: I need to be working to remain happy.
Lesson Three: Bring your life with you everywhere. You never know who might have a ticket.