川島小鳥 Kotori Kawashima
川島小鳥 Kotori Kawashima
“We enter a little coffeehouse with a friend of mine and give our order. While we’re approaching our table two people come in and they go to the counter:
‘Five coffees, please. Two of them for us and three suspended’ They pay for their order, take the two and leave.
I ask my friend: “What are those ‘suspended’ coffees?”
My friend: “Wait for it and you will see.”
Some more people enter. Two girls ask for one coffee each, pay and go. The next order was for seven coffees and it was made by three lawyers - three for them and four ‘suspended’. While I still wonder what’s the deal with those ‘suspended’ coffees I enjoy the sunny weather and the beautiful view towards the square in front of the café. Suddenly a man dressed in shabby clothes who looks like a beggar comes in through the door and kindly asks
‘Do you have a suspended coffee ?’
It’s simple - people pay in advance for a coffee meant for someone who can not afford a warm beverage. The tradition with the suspended coffees started in Naples, but it has spread all over the world and in some places you can order not only a suspended coffee, but also a sandwich or a whole meal.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have such cafés or even grocery stores in every town where the less fortunate will find hope and support? If you own a business why don’t you offer it to your clients… I am sure many of them will like it. (via Mind Boggling Stories)
Baby, you seem like a nice enough kid, so I’ll tell you something. When you get old enough and you ever need a place to go- maybe you don’t know what I’m talking about, but some day, something heavy might happen. Now, you’ll be fine, there are just are bad days out there and you don’t want no body to talk to, you’re down deep, inconsolable. Baby, if you just want to hide out in the shadows one time, the place is called The Blue Lounge.
You’ll walk in to this place and the smoke is swaying in the air. At first you think it’s a picture of a funky little jazz bar, but if you look closely, the tables are worn from their wipe downs at closing time. Baby, everything in there is getting old, even me, but it’ll always be around and it’ll always be the same- when you grow on up I’ll probably still be there.
You make sure you sit at the end of the bar. A man will walk down to you and he’ll seem like any other Joe you’ve seen on the street. Order a scotch and put it on the rocks, baby it ain’t nice enough to have neat.
This guy will put a napkin down and prop your drink up on it, and when you give him the cash he’ll swing round to the register and you’ll see a huge slash across the skin on his neck. You make sure you ask him about that, okay? If he likes you he’ll have stories all night, you won’t have to think about your troubles for a tick- he’ll sweep you away. But if you’re really not in the mood for it, you can pull up a seat. There’ll be all sorts of creatures in there with you, lost ones, regretful ones and guilty ones. Christopher will be at the table to the right of the stage, oh but baby, only I can call him Christopher; mean old man makes everyone else call him Mister Scott.
I’ll be straight with you; you know why he lets me call him by his first name? Baby, it’s because I’m the darling of the joint. I can say that, because I’m telling you in life you’re going to have to act. There’s gonna be the person you are in that big heart of yours, and there’s gonna be the person that you put on in the morning. I’ll tell you that I was a nobody where I came from, no one knew my damn, cursed name- but when you come to The Blue Lounge, they’ll all be waiting for Lola.
Now that barmen makes sure you’re never thirsty, so at one point you’ll be looking for the bathroom, and you’ll see the owner’s brother, Jones. He’s always watching nobody gets up to anything no good. Because of this flattering haunting place and his relationship to the boss, everyone here started calling him Uncle John. He’s rough looking and he’s a hell of a screw up, but James loves him down to the calluses on his feet. James loves his big brother like James loves everything. This is the owner of course. James loves the dirt on the street, the smut in the air and every wrinkle on a face- but James don’t love nothing like he loves me.
When you come down I’ll point him out, but you’ll know it when you see him. He’s golden. And it will be such a fine thing to see your face there, don’t worry I’ll remember yours. You make sure your blues bring you down, but baby, don’t ever let them keep you there. We’re all long gone now. My blues brought me down thirteen years ago, when I was a pretty, young girl with some heavy shoes. My sorry feet were dragging along the ground when James roped me in. Everybody’s got a sad story baby, and when you come around I’ll tell you mine. I’ll tell you, because they’re all history now. I got my music, I’ve had a hell of a life, and I’ve got my baby James. And no body loves me like my baby. So you skip to, go do what you’ve got to do now, be young and make sure you make a couple mistakes- so I can see your face lurking at The Blue Lounge.
Some days are golden; they line up like cha-ching, cha-ching, cha-ching.
I can walk down the street like fucking rock star. Whatever colour the lights are- they’re all looking green.
I could have worn this suit every day this week- today it’s a million bucks.
So on this particular golden day, it’s a Tuesday, anyways, I bust in to my regular coffee shop- like I’m Jesus walking in to a church. I’m sure there’s light and shit beaming behind me- loyal followers glancing up to the guy they’ve been waiting for. Maybe it’s not like that in reality- but who cares- fuck you, it’s my golden day.
“Short or long?” the barista asks.
“Long” I reply, giving her a wink.
Anyways, so I’m floating on my fucking cloud of a day, and I see this guy- he’s a pretty commonplace guy, nothing striking about him, average height, brown hair, green eyes, maybe blue eyes- who cares, orange eyes for all I care, Anyways, he’s fumbling around the café and looking all through the newspaper stand.
I’m watching this guy, and I can almost see the sweat pouring off him you know? He’s patting his coat pockets, then his trousers pockets, then with the coat pockets again- you know it’s starting to stress me out?
But fuck it, I’m having a glorious day- usually I hate people, but just on days like these I just feel like helping somebody.
“Hey now, what’ve you lost buddy?”
He looks up at me, wide-eyed and flustered, all red-faced- like I’ll be helping him find a goddamn vital organ or something.
“Uh, well. It’s a- see this morning I had a little black box in my pocket, and now it’s gone- I checked it was with me when I paid for my coffee, and just before I walked out the door I checked again and-“
“Alright buddy, so we’re looking for a little black box- don’t sweat, it’ll be here.”
I got no idea where this fucking box is. Some one probably stole it- oh we’ll, let’s help this poor bastard out.
So we’re looking around, asking people if they’ve seen it. I’m going to be late for work, but I don’t really care, fuck it, I’ll call in sick.
Just when I’m thinking about asking this guy to fake doctor-
I see it.
I should have known I would find it; it is my golden day.
The thing is, the little black box looked like a ring box, a kind of box that means a big decision. I don’t really know why I did it, maybe I kind of just wanted to help the guy out in a meaningful way, maybe I’m an arsehole who likes fucking with people, who knows, this is what went down- I slip this stupid box that we’ve been looking for, for like a quarter of an hour, in to my carry case and pretend to keep looking.
“Hey, our coffees have gone cold. Let’s catch a break and I’ll grab you another one.” I say to him.
“Oh that’s okay. Thanks so much Sir for helping me out, that was really kind of you but I couldn’t bother you any further”
“Forget it, I’ve got nothing to do today- may as well help a guy out,” I smile “I don’t mind- And don’t worry, I won’t sting you for fees or anything at the end”
The guy chuckles and steps forward, “Then at least let me get the coffees”
So we’re sitting down, and he’s a nice guy- a damn nice guy. Bit of a mean upbringing, but now he’s a teacher, helping out kids and shit. He wants to start up his own- I don’t know, what do you call it? Place where kids can go to if their parents are dead or beating them up or something. Anyways, one of those. Damn nice guy.
“So Superman, you got yourself a nice lady?”
He looks down in to his drink and then turns his gaze out the window.
“Yeah? What’s she like?”
He picks up his spoon and starts to stir, although I can’t recall him asking for sugar in his cappuccino.
“Well, let’s see. Her name is Ivy, we met four years ago- just down the road from here actually.”
“Yeah, just down by that park two streets that way” He points west. “Um, we were waiting for the bus in to the city and we casually started talking, sat together on the ride, then I guess we got each others contact details and just went on from there”
I nod appreciatively.
“That’s a nice story of how you guys met I guess, but tell me about her, tell me a story about… Ivy”
The nice guy tilts head up and scratches under his chin.
“A story about Ivy? Okay,” He seems to chew on his tongue for a moment then laughs, “This has been a really bizarre day”
I smile and nod again.
“Okay, Ivy is, ” he looks up at me, “my dream girl.”
This time I can’t hold back laughter.
“No really! I know it sounds a bit lame, but- it was like the bus had come and hit me in the face. No, she’s not a super model or anything, and if you ask her she’ll tell you she’s the most boring and plain girl in the world- but, she’s my dream girl”
“That’s nice.” I finish the last drop.
“And she listens to me, in this impossibly calm way- just like she did on the bus, just like she’ll do when I get home tonight.”
“Oh stop it, I’m going to cry.”
He smiles and waves his finger in the air at me, “You probably don’t have that problem, but no one ever really wanted to hear what I had to say.”
“Hey, I’m listening- wanna marry me?”
He laughs for a moment, then his brow furrows.
“I have to find this box”
“Yeah, I really do have to find it”
“What’s in it?”
I suppress a snort.
“Alright buddy, let’s get to it”
Tossing my cup in the bin I then reach down in to my case.
“Well look at that” I turn round and toss this thing along the table. Before he gets the chance to look back up from it, I say “Good luck” and the bells swing as I leave the shop.
I guessed something about that conversation was supposed to be profound, maybe I was supposed to pull that bullshit apart and file it away somewhere.
But all I got is that, I’m an arsehole and it’s still my fucking golden day.
A product of what?
A blend of the truth and who I would rather be,
Who I would prefer you see,
A joyful light which dances in a window front- surrounded by the secrets held by a sorrowful night.
(Cue the blues)
The present, is in two dancing lights of it’s own
From the past, it is a hope filled dream of possibility and potential
And then from the future, it is a feeling in the pit of your gut- of a wasteful worry, you were doing it right all along,
And the insecure fears were misguided.
Is it possible for a creature to have never been in love, but yet, be heart-broken every day because of it?
Is it possible to walk off a worry, so far until your skin burns and your feet peel?
It is a curious thought to lend your mind to, where does strength come from- the mind or the body?
Some people pray, lord don’t move that mountain
But to me, he is not there- or the journey is to find what is, and I’ve got no choice but to climb.
I just hope Vienna still waits for me…
But there I go again, swept away with hope, all in the change of a song-
A product of what?
Not of love
but of life-
and loveless things can be beautiful too.
As one of the female persuasion, I feel as if my upbringing with entertainment has been threaded with motivational messages.
It’s not literature- but the music and film industry that are cheering me on along my endeavors-
The clothes I’m wearing, I bought it. The rock I’m rockin’, I bought, ‘Cause I depend on me
These words are keeping me late after class, pushing me to do free work in order to get that edge-
Forcing my head down and butt up- to get things done- to get what I want.
If Gen Y were having a gender war- if I may be as bold to say- girls would be on top.
Could I be even bolder?- and place some credit on the cheer squad of strong role models we have.
Who are guys looking up to these days, rappers and crooners?
Does the male species need a Beyonce?