a night off

I sit outside on a small flight of tall wooden benches, polished and modern, under halogen light with rock music prominently streaming from the speaker above my head. i just finished a spinning class and am now back at the coffee shop (finishing the coffee from before). my muscles are exhausted. my mind is awake.

A new man comes and sits at the other end, sipping his coffee. Something it seems only city folk do at 8:00 in the evening. I like the city. In the city people readily sit near you and go about their lives.

A small spec of a bug travels the wall to my right. It twists and turns as it navigates the rough terrain of grey-blue paint. I like how this insect is not affected by gravity the way I am.

I look at people as they come and go; i watch them, not self-consciously. And I think about how God loves them. Flesh and blood and heart. He loves them. At each moment of the day someone is lying down to sleep, to rest from the journey. They surrender to the night in bitterness or in peace.

Some collapse heavy.

I’m almost thirty. I’ve survived city life and love it.

People. People are hard and beautiful. Beautiful to consider. Hard to live in the close company of. But worth it, for God pursues people and His spirit dwells in many.

It is LA cold and I shiver. But I stay until close because this is a moment of worship.

My feet are dusty. There is dirt under my nails. I drink cold coffee. I am at rest.

I like being here. alone. I wonder when the day will come where I get too lonely and cry for want of company.

I wonder about the man from earlier. I wonder if he’s gone home. I wonder what he’s thinking about. I wonder if he’s still writing. Still trying to say something.

….

I’m now in my room. sorrowful. my tissue box looks like a blue volcano exploding thin white paper. i wish sarah lived next door. i’d invite her over and let her disregard the do not disturb sign that hangs permanently from my door knob. we could listen to the police sirens together.