More Than Coffee. Commonality.

To my left, a teenage boy and girl: middle-eastern. I won’t be foolish and even attempt to define their nationality, but I can tell you it’s far from here. Somewhere between Europe and Asia where the people live and work much differently than they do on these emptier streets. Had it not been for their dark skin and deep features, their branded shirts and denim jeans would have kept any trace of lineage to a faint whisper, meant only for those they choose to tell. In front of me, a man and woman: African American. Her head is tightly wrapped in a patterned scarf and he wears a worn baseball cap. His prickly black hair escapes from beneath, with shades of gray welcoming his age. Their bodies move slowly, calmly rather, and effortless smiles give way to content. Behind me, two women: Caucasian. I can’t see their faces, but I can hear their words. Their relationship is unfurled and I can now see an anxious young woman across from her best friend, who happens to be her mother-in-law. There’s a baby, sleeping in a stroller that enters my peripheral vision every few sways. And at this pace, a young mother learns that staying at home with her child is nothing to be ashamed of. Nearby, an Asian woman wears dark sunglasses and chatters dicey words into her Bluetooth. And here we all are in Starbucks, sipping the beverages we swear by with friends we can talk to, agendas we follow, and keyboards we guard. The beauty of New York City shines in these moments, and the routine of corporate America is shadowed in its light. Oh and I almost forgot…to my right there’s a window. A merry-go-round of life in the now, a world moving faster than the coffee pours and a street where diversity is a given. A family of Hasidic Jews makes their way across my pane. A teenage boy drags at the rear with a dim motivation. I arch my lips in a “life goes on” sort of way. He picks a hand from his pocket and offers a wave with barely an elbow’s twist. The suns out today, and I’m suddenly grateful to have grown up here.

Reason to Stay

There's a rock beneath my spine and a fallen tree branch holding my neck into place. I feel trapped in a forest of orange blankets and winking devices. It's morning, and all that I have to show are these aches and pains that bruise my everyday. It's been clear for quite some time, this worn futon is not for my body to lay. And odd as it may sound, I don't believe it wants me to lie here either. Why else these cracks? These not too subtle reminders of the comfort being sacrificed? A few moments more and I'm reminded why these knots are worth their sores. The winking devices. Friends. Messages, tweets, updates. The people I wake up for, already saying hi. A reach, a click, a 'press to unlock', and comfort is restored. If I didn't wake up right where I am, as gloomy as the sky outside, it would mean I'm somewhere else, farther away, at a much less affordable rate. My friends would not be near. So I'm willing to weather these conditions if it means being close to their sarcastic eyes and far from a world of only winks.

Julie's close. Yesterday we took a drive to places the other had never been. Julie wanted to go the park. The one where you can see the bridge, she said. What she was trying to explain was actually not a "park" but a simple jetty, a stretch of rocks that spilled out into the Little Neck Bay. I'd gone before, plenty of times. In high school we'd buy over-sized sandwiches with names like "The Beast" and drive up to the guardrail, looking out at the bits of skyline over the horizon. We'd sit on the hoods of our cars listening to the water crash underneath us. And eventually, if you listened carefully, you could almost hear the cops approaching before they'd yell at us for trespassing after dark. This time was a little different for me. It wasn't dark. It was 4:30. We didn't have creatures made of melted cheese and onion rings on a hero. We had Starbucks. And for Julie, this would be her first memory of this little spot.

It's funny how differently we notice the same places with a few years gone by. This day, the parking lot curved like a fist around our car and the jetty extended into the water like a firmly pointed finger. We climbed out over the jagged rocks. They could've been broken chairs, I thought. Lots of chairs. All the broken, crooked, and forgotten chairs of New York City, piled here in this bay. So we climbed over the legs and arms of fragemented chairs until finally we found the perfect seats, side by side and only slightly uneven.

The sun was gone, like it has been these past few days, and our company was plentiful. Fishermen. Eh. Local fishermen. Extremely local fishermen? Ah. Lot's of typical guys who come down to the bay to cast their line and shoot the shit with strangers. Okay. Fishermen. They were all up and down the jetty. And we stood out, sat out rather, like tourists in a humdrum fishing village.

With conversation rolling and fish being hunted, it didn't surprise me when Julie suggested Sushi for dinner. And in deciding where to go, I realized the obvious place I'd yet to be. Long Beach. Take the Irish out of Rockaway and the energy out of the Jersey shore and you've made considerable progress in defining Long Beach. It was Tokyo Tuesday at Minnesota's (how's that for a juxtaposition) and surprised I was when I ate some of the best sushi I'd ever had.

We walked. Bright orange life guard stands spotted the empty beach and the water crawled up to our toes, surprisingly warm. The seagulls footrints looked to me like an upside down anchor. To Julie, they were a backward mathematics symbol. Great minds think differently sometimes too, I suppose.

We started driving home the long way, the more fun way, and my phone rang. Another friend.


"...A few moments more and I'm reminded why these knots are worth their sores. The winking devices."

Feeling Belief, Typing Its Meaning, and Sharing It With The World: The Religion Of Obscure Collaboration

...by Ricky & Me

I believe in thunderstorms in the morning.
I believe an outfit can change your fate.
I believe in the moment when a plane takes off and you realize you’re off the runway. Flying.
I believe a tuna fish sandwich can cure most wounds.
I believe in the way old books smell.
I believe that the possibility for infinity lies within the dusk.
I believe in hiding behind my sunglasses, even when the sun is almost set.
I believe time can stand still for roughly 3 minutes and 12 seconds at a time.
I believe in saving worn out sneakers in case I need a bedtime story.
I believe in keys, that everyone holds a story and a secret.
I believe in the street I grew up on.
I believe in Indian summers.
I believe in Mrs. Kordowski, my sixth grade teacher. She told me she once saw God and I’ve been questioning ever since.
I believe in choice of font.
I believe in coffee and its conversations.
I believe in Stick Stickly and that popsicle sticks can and will talk under the right circumstances.
I believe in safety pins.
I believe that hope is the foundation of humanity, and that love is its realization.
I believe in words.
I believe in Nate Cyphert in a vocal booth.
I believe in a moment; in the whispers leading up to it and the morning afters that still your soul.
I believe in embrace; that there’s no safer feeling, no sturdier guard, than between a friend’s arms.

We believe in obscure things and the random evidence that proves them to be true.
What do you believe?