A Summer near Westcity -- 6by @abrahamKim PATRON | 590 words | 🐣 | 462💌
Current day streak: 0🐣
Total posts: 462💌
Total words: 170958 (683 pages 📄)
Sitting at a Greasy Spoon, drinking coffee, I read a book until it's black. These summer days stick around so late they convince you that night won't come, that we've reached some nirvana of bright day and ambient evening in perpetuity. But once the sun dips below the horizon, night falls quick.
Because I hate beautiful sunny days, it makes sense that I enjoy nights. While lurking around after-hours, I feel no guilt that I should be somewhere, doing something. Everyone's tucked inside their homes with full bellies, watching something meaningless, about to prepare for bed. Watching videos and relaxing doesn't fly above my competency, so I don't feel ashamed for not partaking. Instead I feel a bit glib walking around knowing that I'm doing something more interesting than the average person. Or if not more interesting, then at least less meaningless.
I just wished the library was open at night. I've dreamed of how great it would be to have a 24/7 library. I think I'd feel much better about being an unemployed college dropout if I could just hang out in the library all day and night. I always hate those intercom announcements that inform us the library is about to close in 15 minutes. I always hated how security personnel made rounds to shuffle people out. The energy of the library shifted come closing time; nervousness filled the air; it was the feeling right before jumping into a cold pool, the feeling that what was about to come was going to suck more than what was now.
Instead of the library, I hung out at all-night greasy spoons like this one with a book. Right now I'm reading some book I found from the used book store on Baker Ave. I've never heard of the author or publisher. But something about the cover beckoned me. I had been looking for a more local book, got sick of tales from far away lands. So I went to the local/regional sections. There was hardly anything on Westcity the city itself. Most the books were just historical accounts of the surrounding nature and industry. But then there was this single book. A novel with a torn-up red paperback cover. The paperback looked like something I could've bound. And seeing as there were no other novels featuring Westcity, I opened it up and began reading; it felt like something I could write. Being only 3 bucks I bought it. This was a couple months ago when I was still busy with school so I stuck in my backpack and there it remained buried for who knows how long, and then I must've just thrown it someplace in my apartment one day while cleaning out my bag. It was only during my cleaning spree today that I'd come across it.
After I take a sip of coffee, I open the book to where that business card is. I've been using it as a bookmark. Then, I realize a coincidence. The name of a character in the book, Mr. Ball. And the name on the business card. Ball and Associates. Neither mentions the first name in any shape or form. I don't even remember the man saying his first name the entire lunch and Jackie always referred to him as sir or Mr. Ball.
I look out the window and imagine just for fun that these two people are one in the same.