My new laptop's sleek, matte key pads are now slightly smudged with butter from my fingertips, and there are crumbs on the trackpad. I just ate this croissant:
I'm in my cat-sitting neighborhood at the café that reminds a friend of Palo Alto--he won't come here.
I like it well enough, for a change, but I was surprised when Sister suggested I look at some apartments nearby (she lives on the same block). I wouldn't want to live here, I told her.
"Too far away from work?" Sister asked.
"Not my people," I said.
Lovely people, no doubt, but they're so... shiny. No crumbs and smudges. Of course, everyone suffers, but I admit I can't always see that through the glare of their perfectly coiffed hair.
My café neighbors:
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My coworkers are NOT "better" people––(I bet no one in this coffee shop has stabbed anyone)––but [she types on her thousand-dollar Apple], I feel more ...comfortable? real? among people who show the wear and tear of entropy.
Entropy. It's the law!