I look over my shoulder as I walk down the Ave. Glancing around at the beggars and buskers, musicians and scattered city folk. A group of kids laughing and talking, not older than 19. There’s no business dress here, no fancy outfits, but they don’t lack style; Bohemian hippies, gangsters, hipsters, and punks with perfected reflections.
The familiar roaring of pricey, souped-up bikes rush past me, and they all turn into the parking lot of the little coffee shop tucked in between the big city businesses; A little gem in a coalmine. The cluster of shiny jet black motorcycles clutter the parking lot, and I can’t imagine a single car would make it through the maze of metal and mirrors.
Through the populated sidewalks, busy streets, squealing tires and honking horns, hustle and chatter, sweet cinnamon and espresso scents with an undertone of cell phone ring-a-lings, I wonder where my place is in all of it. Am I the only one standing still anymore? I catch a glimpse of my melancholy reflection in the barber shop window and can’t help but stare at those empty eyes, all the while people rush around me, and I hear them curse under their breath, frustrated by my still obstruction of the walkway, I’m sure…But I drift away in that window, as if it’s a portal to another world, where people are silent and cars move in slow motion.