Spring Arises, Winter Dies Down

It was somewhere during the spring…no summer, or rather, the fall? I wish the weather was a bit easier to discern. Wait, no… ah yes, I remember it being cloudy, although that doesn’t provide much help. Hm. Well I suppose it was spring. Anyways, it was an easy to remember but hard to tell sort of day. It was one of those nights where you could still feel the heat of the day that shone brightly, despite light showers. I think I was on one of my usual recces, to sort of satisfy my childlike wonder. You couldn’t see a star in the sky, but the air pollution and the light pollution was so bad that the lower part of the sky was illuminated. It was late, and I had nowhere to go. Anyways, to my surprise I found a sushi restaurant in that hick town. It might’ve been the only place in that entire state that actually served raw fish. I don’t remember the taste so much, but it was okay to say the least. To be fair, they probably had to add cream cheese to everything because of the people who lived there.

It was a bitter sweet moment. As if home was beckoning at you to come back. How could I? I was just young, not my fault. Damn. I went on and on saying “this isn’t real sushi; you call this sushi?!” Instead of getting mad, the guy just looked at me kind of funny. As if he was saying “I know; I hate it too.” I never went back there again, but I’m pretty sure it had a good run without me. Whenever I eat this cheap crap, I can’t help as to think of that moment.

“Well you didn’t have to go get me sushi; I would’ve been fine with anything.”

“I know, I know, I just wanted to treat you to something.”

“No. No. You were right, this is cheap. Next time, just me something American.”

“I thought hobos weren’t picky.”

“I told you that this is just an alternative lifestyle.”

“Because you have authority problems,” I said.

“I think of myself as a meager monk. I walk and observe, it is quite a peaceful life. In these time of modernity, I can get by with unchanging weather, simple meals, and hard floors.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re just glorifying your so called occupation.”

“So? Besides don’t you have somewhere to be, working man,” he said with a hint of pretense.

“Eh,” I said as I lifted myself off the concrete, “just be a little more grateful I do this for you”

Face forward and back against the past conversation walking now became automatic. Morning, noon, night, who cared what time it was. The line was blurring anyways. Down the aisle of concrete, a light breeze struck my face. The sun barely glimmered, and as I watched, I couldn’t help as to think of how idiotic it is for a man to have to walk when the sun is lazing around, barely up in the sky. I don’t know why but whenever passing the regular intervals of trees, I cannot help as to think of reincarnation. How each tree I pass is a man or woman who has led a sinful life. That each and every tree had a story of its own. It was amusing to just think of their stories.

For example, the birch tree planted within the sidewalk was named after a restaurant two lovers frequented. Their daughter would go off into the town indulging her time in worldly desires, if to her avail, in order to compensate for the lack of exciting in her life at the countryside. Eventually she’d leave once becoming of age, and invest her time in the night life of the country’s capital, supporting herself with her occupation of serving food. The night offered her nothing but happiness at the expense of her dignity and innocence. Eventually she’d continue this, until she had died of natural causes at a premature age. Believing that she would go ascend to heaven, to her surprise, she’d be met with an all powerful diety of the Hindu faith. The irony would strike her with grief and to add more upon it, the diety looks down at her with disgust. Immediently afterwards the once vibrant lady is now one of many trees on a street she once frequented, during her daily outings.

It was quirky little things that kept me entertained. People tend to love city life, but the streets begin to look dull if you’re not intoxicated with something. I always felt nostalgic upon walking with cafes or quaint houses nearby, but now the view became all too common. I now require a bit more in order to evoke that feeling. Maybe the shanking of a tree, the rowdiness of a friend whom you know will die prematurely due to their dangerous way of living, or the yelling of an old man displaced into a dark and vast world. It’s nice to feel nostalgic upon seeing such uncanny sights, perhaps I was a weird child so my taste of adventure involved strange events. If you juxtapose those with the daily norm, it’s quite funny rather than strange, well in my opinion. Nowadays you just make-

“Um, hello,” I said, “you’re all kind of blocking the sidewalk.”

The two men sat on a busted coach facing my general direction. The one on my right had long hair and an obvious taste for rock music. The other looked like he belonged in a liberal artisan store, with his three inch man bun.

“Just go around us.” Said mister I wanted a woman president, so my bitterness is justified.

“No…what?.. I’m not going to hop someone’s fence into their front yard or enter the bike lane, just to get around you two,” I exclaimed, “why the hell would you two decide to block a sidewalk anyways?”

“Just walk around us, we’ve been trying to move this couch, and we’re tired okay?” the liberal half heartedly yelled.

I looked left. I look right. I looked forward towards the two men. After a rush of anger and adrenaline, I had a newfound view of the street with the couch behind me, at the expense of a footprint on someone’s couch and the possibly injured nose of a rock punk. Before I knew it running now became automatic.

Please review my work. I'd like to receive some advice. Thanks for reading!