recess

A muggy afternoon, an opaque sky, the feel of early summer encroaching on spring.

I'm secluded - even docile - as a lachrymose alt-rock song from many years ago plays from my desktop speakers.

Outside now, sporadic traffic on secretive streets. The Super of the building across the street sprays away the grime and garbage in the alley. From the other building adjacent to the alley, a guy in workwear hauls out chock-a-block bags of trash. Construction across the way and on the avenue around the corner. A car service driver in a tie waxes his black sedan in front of the house. A couple of older ladies stroll down the sidewalk, happy, dressed as if for religious service. A young dude in shorts with his iPod hangs a right into the alley. Only one customer was at the laundromat when I picked up my clothes earlier. Idle neighborhood chit-chat with the venerable woman who runs the place. It makes me feel as if I still have a place here after all this time - like I somehow belong.

Here I am at the keyboard, in front of the box fan in the window, with a Friday off from work. Memorial Day weekend is upon us, and I observe this fraction of city life. People begin to clear out for the holiday and the city seems to widen. I enjoy staying around, when the crowds thin and the noise pollution loses a few particles. When the subways are less crowded. When it is easier to get to the bartender and order a drink. Or to secure a pool table. It's the amelioration of the odds in the urban waiting game.

R. is apparently out of the hospital today after his two week ordeal of rib-removal surgery and blood clot excision. The times I've visited or spoken with him on the phone, he's generally sounded "chipper" and appeared healthy. I'm simply relieved that he's pulled through without any serious complications. So tomorrow evening we plan a "welcome back" poker game of sorts.

I relish these long weekends. I am mainly with myself, which is often how I prefer it. Humanity can make me cringe and retreat - and I need these self-imposed gulags. Here with my thoughts and words I find a certain restless contentment. Yes, I realize that's an oxymoron, but that's the only way I can explain it. And during the passage of the weekend, I will venture out to see friends, to imbibe a few libations, share some laughs, and lose a few dollars at five card draw.

And later, in the small hours, I'll watch the streetlight swim and skim across white bedroom walls. And here in the half-dark I'll find a spark.