A Back Door Heat Wave
Summer in March, somewhere in the Valley. New Age Jazz music suffers its way through the back door of a heat wave. A hot cup of coffee only terrifies the mood exponentially. Children’s paintings hang on the walls, while the sun attempts to pierce through this mediocrity. The shadows, however, appear to have the upper-hand today.
Afternoon pouting has glazed across this café highway emerging like fiberglass expelled from a car after a head-on collision. The mundane wit soothes like an ice pick stuck in the mud of one’s soul. The clanging ice cubes attempt to harmonize with the New Age Jazz, but...harmony hates New Age Jazz. The cars buzz by along the Boulevard, beyond mere destination. Millions of souls dot this surface with only a few spots reserved for fortune and fame. An annoying cell phone ring temporarily distracts from the New Age Jazz. Some milk and foam ambiance.
Now, we are back to normal. Well, at least, Summer in March, somewhere in the Valley.
- gypsy george.
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