Southern Coffee

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Editorial and Opinion  |  House: Booksie Classic

Observation of a cynical, small town Southerner on a Sunday night coffee shop escape.

Southern Coffee… This is certainly an escape from the usual days of drudgery here in this small town. At least this drug pumps me up as I sit exploring the world through my laptop window. I frequently espouse the desires of one thirty something husband and father to get out of this hell hole. I won’t. I was born here and I will die here. I will complain about its backward ways and occasionally reconcile myself that it is a great place to raise children. How is a town with no cultural or educational outlets a great place to raise kids? My children would have more opportunities in the Bronx. While on the subject I find myself frequently Googling NYC. I dream of being an attorney there. I dream of the opportunity or just the cool way it would roll off my tongue: “I’m a lawyer in New York City.” Maybe that is immature or unrealistic. At what point do we grow roots? At what point in our lives do we become immobile and unable to change things? I am too poor to move. How would I bring my family? I don’t know. I cannot work it out. Am I a freak? Why can’t this freak be happy in a small southern town? Where is my satisfaction? I offend others who have given up getting out a long time ago. The worst is that I have to consider everyone else’s feelings. I mean maybe life is always considering the feelings of others until I am old and feeble and have not taken my own path. I am selfish. I am not a church go’er per se. I have a personal dialogue with whatever being might be out there. Maybe it is just my thoughts, my imagination, who knows. Who really cares? Everyone in this town cares. Every Southern Baptist cares. I am a freak. How do I expect to fit in without committing to one of the few religions available in this town? I am so socially disconnected. I mean really, God is so the king of social networking. Fuck Facebook. Five minutes until the doors shut on the coffee shop. Snap out of this childish thinking. It will lead nowhere but to pain, to hell, literally. Maybe if I could get on one of those drugs everyone else is on I would be ok with everything. Xanax? Something relaxing that makes me not care. I just need a thin cloud to place over my contempt and I would be fine. Time to go. I’ll have to settle for my cup of Caffeine for now. Coffee shop closes at 10pm here. No late nighters for me. After 10pm there is nothing but no good going on, I guess. What good is a coffee shop if it closes at 10pm? I mean that is the ultimate tease. Jack me up on massive amounts of caffeine, get my creative juices flowing, and then kick me out on the street at 10pm. Where do I go? I could go home but my brain seams to be paralyzed there. I need a change of scenery. Circular thinking, I know. I am Holden Caulfield all grown up and living in a small Southern town. I’m going, I’m going…


Submitted: March 13, 2011

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