Dear Anonymous,
Almost a cheeriness out here this morning. Despite the snowfall. And despite the cold. Mike has a job shoveling the sidewalk in front of a couple stores and quickly cuts a path, with chivalry, for me to walk from the street to the coffee shop door.
Sometimes it feels like a flock of hungry seagulls following. That Blueberry Coffee cake. These socks. Those coffee cards. Pants are flying out of the boxes and handwarmers too. This morning there is a general good cheer. Some of the guys don't ask for additional socks; they're all set from yesterday. Many are wearing the pants from yesterday.
This morning there is a sweetness. A less than desperate pathos to the morning. I cannot explain why.
In my imagination 'The Lost Boys' are comfy having breakfast and no one seems openly at odds with another. In this moment.
And the dear man inside clutching the side of his face is struggling. They all know him. He struggles with the government, and aliens, and agencies trying to access his mind. I can't imagine how terrifying it must feel for him.
But there are socks. And a coffee card.
And the sun rises despite it all.