Spring. It really shouldn't have been lovely that morning. It'd been raining for the past week. That type of sentimental rain made for movies that could be put in a bottle and sold for air freshener. That subtle fresh mist that clings to your skin and evaporates as soon as you go inside, but it had turned into a heavy sleet that Sunday night. The kind of sleet that makes you feel lonely and vulnerable and small inside as you lie in your bed, listening to the tiny pellets of crystalized water tapping vainly, feeling cheated - not knowing why their knocks can't be answered. And so it'd been the following Monday, and the skies curtains had been drawn and redrawn to reveal a translucent morning, the skies had cleared, but you could still feel the water in the air, as if an enormous air humidifier had been placed in the trees, hidden in the nests of anxious birds - they most have taken first class flights to get back so fast after winter - and hopefully their airlines had provided extra bags of worms, because you'd think the ground would still be too frozen for them to be found just yet. 

Regardless, it had been a good day for a walk to find food that wasn't made by your own hands. After a while, you already know what your hands will prepare, they aren't very good at being surprising, not after the comfortable partnership they've made with your head - based on years of mutual understanding and familiarity; it was a morning in which my stomach had fallen prey to a seven year itch with my palms, if you will. 

So he followed Cash's advice and pulled his own "cleanest dirty shirt" over his head and some old jeans with holes in the pockets that would be the end of him if he didn't remember to keep my money in the back pockets. Then he washed his face with cold water and brushed my teeth, wondering how much time of our life we spend slaves to hygiene routines everyday -  but it didn't really matter, he wasn't in a hurry, he was just wondering. Besides, he didn't have any particular song to play in my head. Sometimes you do, sometimes you don't, sometimes you mix tunes from the radio and TV shows, and that's always nice, but the sound of silence is nice every now and then too, and it was that morning.
                                                  ........

His stomach was very satisfied as he took another sip of green tea to wash down the cranberry muffin and cheese and sausage croissant I'd just eaten. There had definitely been a subtle separation that morning, but part of his stomach's happiness was its guilt conscience. As for the green tea with honey and cream, admittedly not very manly, but hopefully his week long reluctance to shave would justify his elaborate liquid tastes, at least to the cute quizzical  half-smirk of the coffee girl in the cafe. She always looked the same. Same reddish brown hair in a braid that coiled around her neck a little past her collar bone like a shiny full snake, but completely harmless, as was depicted in her eyes. She seemed like the shy type that would wait for everyone else to board the bus or let the soccer mom with a 3 moth supply of artificial school lunch food for her van load of kids to cut her off, but she wouldn't be mad, she'd enjoy the opportunity to  smile at the little baby girl fortified in a fortress of bags of chips and sugar coated cereal boxes around her pink little polka dot dress, giggling as her mother fumbled in her Mary Poppins purse, sorting through PTA notices, summer camp bracelets, half empty aspirin bottles which she take minutes for her hands to uncap and seconds for the magically adept contents of her purse to open....

Yeah, she seemed pretty, sweet, but not her type. She was wholesome and sunny and too predictable for him. His kinda of girl? - well he hadn't found her yet. He wanted someone sweet and wholesome and simple, but she had to have something more. She had to be the kind of song that each you listened to, you heard something you hadn't heard before, for whatever reason, you hadn't understood the melody all the other times, and every time you heard it sounded new and unlike anything ever created - even the pauses were of monumental significance to the meaning. It wasn't even that the notes of the song had never been arranged in the same form before, it would be that the notes had never belonged to any other musician before, it was a new type of music. And on somedays, the song wouldn't have meaning, nothing would, not meaning, nor purpose, nor future, nor past, there would just exist the moment and everything before and after would be a subtle blur. Any ways, enough of his musical analogies and soliloquies and Odes to Amazement to the girl of his dreams. 

......

To be continued