...like a nudgey hound dog. I empthasize.

So the hum? The guy next to me humming. Am I as distracting to others as he is to me? He's fidgety. He needs to hydrate. He's staring at more women than me. He's wearing white socks and tevas. If I ever get to that point? Well, I'm sure its the natural order of things. All composite styles decay. Laughter and forgetting dissolve the friendly barriers between caring and not caring.

Now he's playing the beat with his coffee cup. He's ogling the fatties, too. This guy is not well. He's lonely and seeing women pass by in all sorts of colored pants and tops and its rainy outside; his focus is as scattered as the rain drops and he doesn't know how to make his next move, be productive, get it done. He's a pitter patter of the fallen. A decent into a kind of low-key madness.

He's not me. But I could be him in time. And why not? Everything I complain about him I project from myself, of course. Why wouldn't I? I am I? Okay? But lets see. I'm going to smile, take a deep breath, project a relaxed state to him, to myself, to my next line of written reasoning so that we (me and my mind) can come together and do the twist and go somewhere fun together.

Like Spain? Yes I do. I do like Spain. So? Go with it. With Spain. Spain of the imagination, home of Glass Eyed Joe, or Glass Jawed Pete? From "Punch Out;" he carried a rose in mouth. Or was that the Flamenco Don? Or the Don Hogan Pony Rider Express, trampling dirt roads past adobe huts and thatched roofs and thatched thongs on the beaches towards the Alamo on the Georgia coastline? Pre-nascent rum drinks and cocktails of tall wheat grasses. Custard pies of color, but not taste or consistency. Mud Honey played throughout the night?

I was once like you (the previous paragraph person). But I was taller and darker and full of piss and vinegar. I shared towels with minors. I laughed at television shows on penguins. I was culpable of mela culpea without understanding or spelling it correctly.

Oh, I fancied myself a good time. Me. A separate voice, from the paragraph two previous to this. And I am tall! Taller than a tack of.....ok. Time to pull back a second. And slow it down and get my posture together, and punch this fucking asshole in the head next to me if he keeps humming and looking over my shoulder? Maybe he is? Maybe he just saw what I wrote?

Are you reading this? Guy next to me? No? Well, are you reading this? Guy from the third paragraph from the top? A wink for me? A sly dog to sell from the pet store? Push the boundaries. Or pull back; same thing when a smile becomes the relaxed state you want. A shoebox diorama conglomeration with lego figures. A bottomless pit of circumstance. A fancied shoe polisher that also does dishes. The Hubbell.

Really, the guy next to me is a like a nudgey hound dog. I empthasize.