Tuesday, September 15, 2009

ghost stories

ghost stories
Originally uploaded by suttonhoo
Spending a working evening in Ann Arbor bridging two meetings, which means leaving the office around 5.30 for the Sweetwater Cafe where they make my ginger/honey/lemon tea the way I like it (and list it on the menu even), and then dinner at Zola where their fish can be trusted (tonight it's salmon; before -- miracle of miracle -- it was halibut cheeks, that strange facial meat that shreds like crab).

More work to do still -- it's been this way for a while now, will be this way for a while longer, and for now that's okay.

I've been listening in to the music and the margins of conversations all evening and I have been deciding things: Those two at the cafe were in love; he a little more than she. These two beside me now as I nosh my asparagus at the bar are sleeping together, or getting ready to, or did once, but are not in love. They're not believing enough. Not in each other, not in themselves, not in love.

The waitress is rude, but only because she's better than this and uncomfortable serving people when she should be served. Her parents are well off and are bankrolling her tuition at UofM but insisted she take a job for spending money. She wears the pearl studs she received for her high school graduation.

I suspect none of these assertions are true.

If I talked to any of these people for even a little while I would learn a hundred truths that would undo the glue of my fictional narratives.

But tonight I prefer my cocoon.

Posting by cameraphone.


I, Rodius said...

Ah, the joy of people watching is letting go of the responsibility for accuracy or fairness and just enjoying that moment of knowing with certainty!

Lolabola* said...

love this! and the photo.

Rahul said...

Your fiction beats the truth any day, as far as I'm concerned! Plus, I don't think you were that far probably :)

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