I love how you say my name during our conversations. Is it to make me real?
I need to continue working on seeing myself in others to help me relate.
We stumbled out of the bar and onto the streets. We were walking fast, seemingly putting both feet forward with each stride, laughing out loud and lighting up to inhale all the while breathing in the cold big city air.
Then for just a moment, I fell behind the crowd to tie my shoes and when I looked up they had disappeared around the corner. I felt into my breast pocket for a match while feeling my back pocket for my hotel keycard. Both pockets lacking contents.
Then a shopping cart clanked to a stop on the sidewalk beside me. There was a man with many hard lines on his face. He was pushing a recycling center on wheels. I’m not going to lie and say that I wasn’t a little startled. For what reason, I don’t know. It was just a homeless person, the city is full of them back home.
Then he grinned at me and asked, “Hey man what’s the meaning of life?”
I don’t think that anyone in their right mind can ask this question seriously. Although, I wouldn’t take anyone asking that question in their wrong mind seriously either. I’m not going to give the question much thought, the right feeling is to comply with this bum.
”I don’t know man, what is the meaning of life?”
There’s a fold-out mattress in the undercarriage of his shopping cart. This man’s shopping cart was more than a transport for his recyclables. It was his companion, his livelihood. I can’t figure why he’d want to stop and talk with me.
”I asked you first man!”
I don’t know why I thought I could answer a question with a question.
”That’s… uh… I don’t know.”
I wonder if my friends had noticed I wasn’t stumbling down the wet sidewalks of the city that never sleeps with them.
”That’s deep huh?”
I need to find my friends. I need to tell them I may have left the keycard for the room back at the club. I just need to get this guy to move on.
”The meaning of life is to live it.”
I don’t even know if I believe that. I’m usually very certain about the thoughts that make it out of my mouth.
”Then what do you think it is?”
If I’m going to be wrong, why am I even complying with you stranger? What do you, man of transience, think is the meaning of our sentience and consciousness?
”The next life.”
Who’s to judge right and wrong?