Dreams of School

I dreamt of school.

Yeah, of being young again and running about with class mates, carrying an armload of books and wishing that the entire school experience would be over so that I could get out into the world and leave classrooms and books behind. Childhood dreams, huh?

I awake to conver- sation. Robert and Jor-el are talking about going out on a smoke together when "Smoke Break" is called. My brain clears from sleep and I wait until the two mugwomps get their shit together and leave before I do my exercise. I hate doing them in front of people because you have to hear too many comments about how and what you should or shouldn't be doing. I go through my exercise and then sit down on the edge of my bed.

It's been a long time since I had a drink. I don't even miss it. By raising the NALTRAXONE in my bloodstream the need for alcohol is all gone. If this cure actually works then why hasn't it been used widely? Then it dawns on me. You need a motivator. You need a reason to want to quit before you can quit. And the Doc tells me, that it's a mild narcotic, so that a tolerance builds up in the body. A narcotic, eh? That means I'll have to take more and more. But for right now, I'm just a little high. Hmmmm.

I work on my laptop, sending out emails even before seven in the morning. I'm efficient. I'm early. And then, right then, there is an announcement that brings tears to my eyes and a pain in my heart. No morning meeting. I am overjoyed even as everyone in the Dorm cheers. I am both happy and pissed. Happy because of the obvious. Pissed because I didn't leave for Think Coffee. I was really wanting one of their toasted bagels this morning. But now, I'll never get a decent seat near a plug. My morning was already shot. I surfed the web and found another Think Coffee a block away on Bowery. Maybe I could find a seat and a plug there. Maybe it was little known and I could still get the holy grail of homeless computing: 1) WIFI, 2) Temperature controlled and 3) Power.

But when I got there I found it small, tremen- dously full, and the best feature about it was it's alfresco seating. Fuck this. I'll just head down to Astor Place and go to the Starbucks there. The one uptown on Madison and on Fifth would be filled with tourists by now, and I didn't want to spend today in the library. I needed air.

Reaching Astor Place, I found it partially empty, and no one was seated in the Eye of God. Damn, the best seat in all of the houses was waiting just for me. I flop my fat ass in the chair and get busy. I work on that damned screenplay. I'm less than seventy five pages from finishing the fucking thing. I'm just tying up loose ends, closing down the characters with satisfying endings. Shit like that.

Chris Tucker is standing outside, one of the homeless denizens that my brother and I have named to keep track of their asses, with hat in hand. He stands at the entrance of the subway hoping to pick up some change. He's patient, I'll give him that much. He'll stand out there for hours, barely taking breaks. This is his day. And this is my day.

Later, I have a crisis of decision-making. I'm in need of a leaving. Yes, that's right, I need to leave, to stretch my legs, but where should I go? Up to Madison Starbucks? Is that the circuit of my life? From one Starbucks to the other? I'm in here so much I should own stock. But really, this is the closest thing that I have to a living room. When people get up in the morning, they pass through, and maybe will even spend time in their living rooms. When the day is over they'll just come home and spend time in their living rooms. I guess I am not much different. If the Box is my bedroom, and the library is the office, then Starbucks must be my living room. And I have a huge living room at that.

Did I tell you that Starbucks is even sending me a mother- fucking gold card for being one of their best customers. Can you believe that? So I'm getting rewarded for hanging out in my living room. 10% off any purchase that I make. Nice right? More food than I can eat, and a hot looking parade of women. Even the occasional movie star. Not bad for a living room. And today, I have the best seat in the house. Makes me feel like Al Bundy, rearing back in my seat and sticking my hand in my pants.

Take the bitter with the sweet people. Sometimes it's sweeter than it looks.

Hobobob