multisyllabic attention whores

Per my usual weekend habit I’m sitting in the Broadway Café Sunday morning enjoying my solitude whilst sipping on a delicious iced coffee (with 2% milk and cinnamon and coca) sitting in the back doing what I do which is mind my own shit watching all the people walk in and out. Sitting in front of me are various peoples drinking coffee and talking about this and that.

At some tables sit the Sunday paper people spending what seems to be hours scrutinizing every inch of the paper. They’re topped by the muthafucker’s who instead of reading the local Sunday paper, insist on reading the massive tome that’s the stinkin New York Times. You got your crossword people, your comfortably married couples who don’t feel the need to clutter up shit with wasted conversation. Off in one end you got the bible people, these are the folks that walk in holding their bibles like some sort of righteous shield in front of em. Outside on the sidewalk sit the more adventurous drinking coffee and people watching.

Out of all these groups with the exception of the bible crowd who I keep a wary eye on just in case the voice in their heads say “hi this is your ole pal god. How abouts you put that coffee down and start whacking muthafuckers in my name and shit”. The one group I’ve been paying attention too as of late are what I call the new intellectuals. These are people, usually young, having all the really deep conversations about politics, science, and any other existential bullshit they can come up with. And that’s ok, cause if you don’t ask then how you supposed to know some shit?

But what kills me is the gravity and intensity of some of these conversations. Usually there’s some attention whore who’s all about his or her part of the conversation. It’s all look at me and how many multisyllabic sentences can I string together at one sitting whilst staring intently. I don’t know wither it’s a sad commentary on our social existence or what, but watching a person look like they’re ready to cry if his or her point isn’t understood is kind’a fucked up. I mean goddamn, there’s this cat sitting there all tensed up and shit, with his face all red and boggle eyed almost begging muthafuckers to understand or at least acknowledge his shit. And whilst viewing all this, the heaviest thought in my head is what’s on the fuckin TV when I get home.

"and the monkey flipped the switch"