You’re probably wondering where the plot is in this story. Don’t worry. It’s around here somewhere. I haven’t misplaced it. It’ll come around sometime.
People love April because the snow finally starts leaving and you see the hint of a budding leaf on a tree as you walk by. Earth day is in April and so is Hitler’s birthday. On Hitler’s birthday lots of people get high and talk about how they are getting high. Not as many people talk about Hitler.
A woman I loved was born in April. A woman who hates me was born in April too. They could be the same person. April is when you no longer have an excuse to not go outside on a walk. Spring is near over.
It’s April 22nd. Earth Day. I drink some coffee in a little room. I rent the room for 600 dollars a month. It’s expensive but so is homelessness. I’ve thought about lodging in some run down hotel where the couches have meth residue and everything is dirty, but sometimes having it bad costs more than clean living.
The coffee is black and tastes burnt even out of water. It’s from a Ziploc bag. I got it from my friend Walter. He was cleaning out his apartment because he was leaving town, moving so fast I swore I could hear police sirens, but no, he didn’t do anything wrong, he was in love with a special lady and needed to go. I bet she was born in April. He showed me pictures on his phone and she looked good even without a filter, even without Hollywood starlet lighting. She didn’t do a duck face. He was in love. You could see it in his face. His eyes opened up a little. You could hear his voice lose whatever grit it had obtained in any sentence where he spoke her name.
That was back in January. I still have the coffee even after drinking It everyday. It was a big bag
My phone plays some music. John Coltrane’s Greatest Hits. I’m supposed to work at the grocery store in two hours but don’t want to go. I don’t think in the entire history of the world anyone has ever wanted to go work as a cashier at a grocery store. People don’t even want to shop there, let alone work there. When you do both it’s like the boss tapes your check to a boomerang and throws it to you. You try to catch it. Right when the fingers graze the dry edge of the paper, and you see your full name and the dollar amount- that lovely number, the only reason you don’t tell off all the management, the fuel to keep off the streets and stay warm in winter- the check withdraws from you, the boomerang leaves your grasp, it is on route back to the boss, who stands there laughing in a blue suit. He snaps up the boomerang and throws you a dry ramen. You bend down to pick it up. You can hear him smiling. You go home to your mattress and smart phone and watch pirated television. He readies more boomerangs.
I take out my phone and go on the youtube app. I don’t want to do the dishes so I’ll watch clips instead. Sometimes I like to watch little educational videos about some silly pop culture thing. You feel like you’re learning something, but it’s about nothing that applies to your life. You’re not even learning about the subject, really. You’re just popping in a gummy vitamin that’s really just candy. That’s unfair to the people who make those videos though. They do a good job. I’m just being hard on them because they really are informative and well done, but I’m not binge watching the history of the video game series Donkey Kong Country because I like the games, I just don’t want to wash the dishes.
The phone rings. The ringtone is cheery, almost over-caffeinated. It’s the sound of death. It’s the manager Kathy. I should let it go to voicemail. But then she’ll leave a voicemail. So then I’ll have to listen to her voice, which will sound annoyed, because she’s always annoyed, even on a cloudless day, and her words, which will be asking me to do something, because that’s the only reason anyone from work ever calls. Fine. I’ll answer.
Hi, we need you to come in early.
In twenty minutes.
Yeah, I heard you. Um. It’ll be thirty