Games of solitaire and a cold cup of coffee, punctuate days that blend into one another. A cigarette burns in the ashtray. Only time flees from the tragic scene of an accidental life.
Philosophies abound and ancient books are staked up against the wall. There are so many titles and names of writers past, it?s a wonder they've been read more than once. At moments like these, a walk to the park can be a good reminder. Friends get married and divorced, children wait for weekends with their fathers, and the park is a haven for mothers with strollers. Smoldering anger for deadbeat dads with twenty year old girlfriends fills the air with angst.
The singular game of solitaire continues with queens laid upon kings and aces always up the sleeve. The warm sun shines off dullish cards and another sweep is made and staked on top. It?s a careless afternoon and reminders of turmoil fade with every turning of a card. It doesn?t matter if you lose at solitaire. It doesn?t matter if you win. There?s always another game to be had as long as the deck has fifty two cards. Fifty two is a good number but so is eight. But what can a number tell you except that there are less days ahead then behind.
A taxi drops off another father and child. Mothers look with disdain as the swing pushes a little girl higher and higher. Families come together and they disintegrate into little stones that line the sandbox. Nothing matters and then it does. But the game of solitaire continues on with impunity and quiet indifference. An empty coffee cup and two remaining cigarettes is motivation enough to put the deck away and find replacement. Coffee and smokes are easily replaced.
The line is long and people call out their personal concoctions, as busy baristas hustle to keep the public happy. Another card is laid out and it appears the game is close at hand. A thought slowly turns into several lines and soon another poem is written in a coffee stained notebook. Through it all, a slow walk back home and the thought of a microwave dinner, create an abstract painting. A quiet guitar seems to beckon and slow hand chords strum out an old tune that once held promise. But what are promises? What is truth? Perhaps another song could answer such questions. Maybe another game of solitaire could fill the gaps of misunderstanding.
It all seems pointless and a bed for one makes room and offers comfort. The mind slows down and sleep becomes the answer to all questions of the day. The sun shines in the morning and the smell of fresh brewed coffee fills the air. A cigarette is lit and solitaire is the game of the ages. A large window suggests the day will not wait. But it does and ideas come and go with another diversion that seems to have no end.
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