toe shuffler

after revelry and music, a show with a mighty bare-chested singer who proclaimed life to be somewhat celebratory — it turned out to be a dark night after all at california plaza.  a black beret, and a goatee, his eyes sunk deep in his skull.  he materialized out of nowhere and was talking to two nondescript people — they had their backs to me, and i didn’t recognize him.  he looked sensitive, like he had just returned from somewhere important — war, famine, funeral.  are they all the same — can he shake the cloud upon his eyoreness?  yeah, he’s always been an eeyore, this guy, quiet, melancholy, suicidal if you don’t watch him.  but not angry.  just sad.  i slumped down a little in my seat while everybody else rushed forward to say hi to him.  they were offering their congratulations upon a death, but i’m sure they meant to be offering condolences.  i looked at him, he looked at his shoes.  i looked at the water, geysers of light behind him.  i think the corner of his eye caught up to me, but a thousand reasons of common yearning and uncommon pain had piled up between us, and we didn’t acknowledge each other.  he must not have wanted me to smile at him.  i could feel truth in my gut, and nobody wants truth when they’re hurting.  so i stuffed it all back into my box of be.  as a goodbye — instead of waving — i stood up and paced as if to say hey — look at me!  look at me!  — but it wasn’t the time, it wasn’t the moment.

somebody else reached out a hand.  i had already turned around and walked away before checking to see if he took it.

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