Pigeons and Cigarettes

The show was short lived. I feel like I wasted an outfit. And definitely waisted a ticket as well. I don’t want to go back home just yet. Maybe I should hit up a friend? Before I could finish rationalizing my next move, my thumbs compulsively message a nearby friend.

“I’m in Central Park. Cigarettes and Beer? I’m lonely :(.”

He responds.

“But I thought you were sober!”

“Shhh, it’s just one beer.”

“Be there in 10.”

I sit on an empty bench and reach for my pack of Camel’s. Freshly opened, I flip a lucky in reverse and then select a newer cigarette to puff on. There’s nothing like the first drag. Within moments, my anxiety has calmed. I sit on the bench, cross legged, in my dramatic fur coat, awaiting my dear friend.

It isn’t long. As promised, he shows up quickly. His hair blowing in the wind as he walks in some flat, high topped Nike’s with a jacket too think for the current weather. He sticks his hands in his pocket. He looks cool, charming even.

“Hi!” I smile warmly and give him a hug.

“It’s freezing!”

“That’s what happens when you don’t wear any clothes.”

We begin walking as I hand him a cigarette. We’ve developed a comfortable routine with one another. Becoming some what of an emergency support system to each other.

“Do you have a light?”

I hand him my hello kitty lighter without batting an eye. He never comes prepared.

“Thanks!”

He lights his cigarette with stars in his eyes. He’s always been the hopeful type. Maybe because he’s an artist. And artist don’t live in reality enough to be bummed out about the ways of the world. We create our own realities instead.

With cigarette in mouth, he proceeds to engage in small talk.

“So how’s Washington heights?”

He asks, doing his best impression of a Latin accent.

I roll my eyes before responding.

“Well, I wouldn’t know. I don’t live there anymore.”

“What! You moved?”

I smirk.

“Why do you always do the most random s**t without telling a soul?”

I gaze ahead as I his words resonate into his head. I want to tell him the truth. How I moved so that I wouldn’t have to be haunted by thoughts of him. But instead, I come up with a simpler response.

“Oh you know I can’t sit still much anyway.”

He laughs, understanding that all good jokes contain truth.

“So, what about you? How me music school?”

“It’s kicking my a*s. I have a few beats I need to finish working on by the end of the week. But I have serious creator’s block. Like, I don’t know what to draw from anymore.”

It seems like everyone is struggling with something. The city doesn’t have the same novelty it has when you first arrive. Good feelings don’t last forever. New things become worn out eventually. Is it possible to protect novelty? To somehow extend feelings of appreciate long beyond the trial period? Or is this our fate, as humanity. To lose appreciation for the things we become too accustomed to after a while.

We continue to chat. But for the duration of the evening, my mind is elsewhere.