I'm churning furiously at the screenplay.
Yes, I'm still working on the conclusion, but two things you need to keep in mind: 1) I don't consider it a conclusion in the sense of the end. It's the run up to the conclusion, 2) Just because I'm working on it, does not mean it's running in real time. I'm very slow, and take my time building the different elements so that they come together smoothly and organically. That's what a true conclusion is. Something that makes sense as it nears completion. That's a good conclusion. That's what I'm working on. And it is work. Writing, rewriting, changing, editing. It takes work.
And I'm doing all this inside Starbucks.
I'm growing used to being in a Starbucks. It's like my living room. Just with a lot of people in it. And it's very cold. At least twenty five degrees colder than it is outside. That means that if you're going to stay awhile, you'd better save up your quarters for the Fifty Four Cent refills. Yeah, you're going to need them to stay warm.
There is almost always a line into the bathroom, and do you know why? Well if you thought...because they're serving coffee, you are only half right. The other half of the people that make up the line are morons from the street that are just looking for a public toilet. They are outside and they have to piss or shit in a hurry, so they rush right in and right to the line, to stand and hop up and down in place. That's what Starbucks is, a public toilet to many. And a haven to others.
Yes, that's right, you will find my people there too. We are ubiquitous in New York City, and the homeless gravitate to the place, just as if it was a public library or a park. The Skeksies float in and out like motes of dust, sometimes stopping at the condiments table to make their favorite beverage. Milk and sugar. They'll reach down into the trash for a cup, take the pitcher of milk from the table, fill it and follow that with a few packets of sugar and stir. From there, depending on the day, you can just about guess where they'll go. On a good day, back outside; on a bad day, to one of the tables inside of the establishment.
Oh yes, Skeksis use the bathrooms too, that's probably the reason why there is a line. Because once a Skek floats into the bathroom, it's like a blood clot to the heart. They stay. They'll no doubt undress completely and give themselves a bird bath in the sink. They also flush the toilet a great deal. My belief is that they attempt to dry themselves with toilet paper. And it takes a great deal of paper to do that well. So they flush it down the commode in great pieces. But what you aren't aware of is the stink. When they peel those layers upon layers of clothes off and wash a few of them in the sink, the stench that rises is unheard of. It will linger strongly in the bathroom long after they have left.
Yes, the Skeksis are there as they are everywhere. You also have your regular patrons though. Some of these are homeless, some are Skeks, some are just regulars, just like you, who happen to like a certain Starbucks for some reason on another. When you live in a Starbucks you can make out who is whom. I've come to learn of the flow and ebb of Starbucks, of every Starbucks for that matter, because as their fare is, the same so is their function. They operate just the same. There is a morning rush, that dies down around ten, then a lull. Come Noon it'll pick up again and this will last sometimes straight thru until Three or Four in the afternoon. Finally it will pick up around five and peter off at Seven.
Motes of dust float in with the crowds today. Skeks are appearing at the tables, sitting, watching, having absolutely nothing to do but not wanting to be on their feet any longer, or outside. Something draws them, makes them stay. One is on line to use the bathroom. You know what that means. A very long line awaits.
I am here too, along with the Skeks, chasing my Holy Grail of locations: a place with WIFI, power to run my baby without worrying about battery life and heat, or air conditioning making the environment comfortable. That's why I'm here, because two out of three ain't bad.My brother once said that without my laptop I would be just like Buzzard, sitting for hours on end, staring into space, doing nothing but vegetating. My hold on the world is probably just that brittle.
Ready to shear away at the moment a catastrophe like losing my baby strikes. And it would be a catastrophe. Something that I fear I would not survive. That is why I guard her so ardently. I couldn't see sitting in Starbucks with nothing to do. Nowhere to go. Nothing to say. Nothing to dream of. It would be a living Hell.
I wonder about Buzzard, his long face, bald head, deepset and dark eyes. He sits hunched, almost appearing like a buzzard, staring, staring, staring. There are others in here just like him, but now Buzzard has electronics that he can stop and regard their tiny screens. He's not too far gone.No one is.
I sit and stare at the people in my living room. And maybe that's the true point now isn't it? Maybe I'm a regular in someone else's living room?
If I am, they need to turn up the heat in this place.
Hobobob
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