BIG CITIES AND FRAGILE MINDS
Walking down the frenetic and disinterested cosmopolitan
street, passing by a plethora of coffee houses wherein smokers languidly
and nonchalantly display their right to challenge disapproval, we
(my long lost most sweetest girl friend in the entire world and
I) make the uncertain choice to trespass into a forbidden place.
We open the door and step inside with trepidation. An ocean of vapidity
threatens to engulf us, like being suddenly hit by the stench of
rotting corpses. The egos of the young, hip and rich, prop up the
preposterously trendy wine bar and eye us up as if this is a scenario
reminiscent of a western movie, whereby the locals automatically
despise the foreign vagabond as soon as he enters. Well I am distantly
related to Jesse James so the sea of icy stares does not trouble
me. We walk over to the bar and order two glasses of red wine. “Would
you like blah blah, mumble mumble…” the Bar man accosts us with
a torrent of verbiage supposedly pertaining to wine categories,
in an effort to test our status perhaps. However we will not be
discerned; we just want something that tastes as if it should not
be sold as vinegar. We order our drinks and survey the foreign land.
Smug executive types clutter up what might be called space and clamour
to grab each other’s expensive and highly sought after attention.
These are happening people you know, they won’t just flatter anyone’s
attempt to dominate the conversation, in doing so it has to pay
homage to their own narcissism. In the midst of all this frenzied
and noisy fraternising, my long lost, sweetest pal in the world
and I head hunt for seats. The air is hot and heavy with expectation;
for the Thursday-night-punters are vying for a good time, and eagerly
volley signifiers back and forth as conversations get louder and
gain momentum. As my friend and I indulge in our memories, couples
nearby whisper sweet nothings to each other, teams of suited and
booted twenty-some things laugh together and alpha males scan for
potential mates. Were it not for my purpose to catch up with my
friend’s life, and hence was I not sheltered by her conversation,
this exclusive microcosm of social reality would most definitely
spit me out.
© Emily Hawes, 16th June 2005
Please let us know what you thought, and we will pass on your comments
to the author. Remember to enter a valid email address along with
your comments.
Click to return
to the top of the page.
|
