The spot

I find myself near where I sit everyday for lunch, where I usually smoke a cigar. A little cigar. I don’t ask for much, just a spot where I can sit for a 30 minutes and collect my thoughts and enjoy a cigar. Today was not to be that day. Somebody else is in my spot. It’s not a big deal but it does change my plans somewhat to the point where I am uncomfortable.

I am also uncomfortable because I’m wearing my Doc Martens which are supposed to be orthopedic if they’re not, at least not for me. Now I got my spot back since the guy that was sitting here has moved on. His wife showed up and he was waiting for her.

He’s probably 10 to 20 years older than me. I can’t fault him for he didn’t complain about the cigar nor give me any dirty looks he just sat there looking at a building across the street. Now he and his wife are walking up 5th avenue and I am sitting where I usually sit.

It is a nice and quiet day at the fruit stand. Hardly anyone is in. The cigar I am smoking is a little bit larger than the ones I usually smoke but it is more full.

I am staving off depression once again. Maybe it’s because it’s that time of year where summer is winding down and school is starting. That is more than likely the reason.

Bill is home with no work coming in which understandably upsets him. Mike is still looking for work; nothing is happening on that front despite filling out applications for him online.

I find myself watching what I say so it’s not to give away how old I am. And that is because I am generally a few decades older than the people I work with. I like my job, I like the location and I am older than other people around me.

That never used to be the case, most of the time I was younger than everyone else. That is not the case anymore. The people that I see that are older to me, look a lot older than me.

I am dictating all of this, because I felt a bit paranoid about writing on the desktop that I sit at at the fruit stand. Do they watch? I don’t know, but I’ve been doing this for a few months now and no one has said anything. But no one said anything at the cigar shop until I was found out.

Then it all came crashing down around me. I suppose that could happen again. So here I am dictating into a phone and we’ll have to correct the typos and *Miss heard* things that I have said like *miss her* misheard.

Mike Carlucci just popped into my head. My former guitar teacher. He taught me two or three times and it didn’t go much further than that. But he was a good guy and I *could send him a friend* considered him a friend. A lot of the times during the lessons I would sit and smoke Marlboro and fuck about music talk about music.

Maybe I will keep the misheard things as well as typos just to prove a point to no one but myself. Yeah you’re everywhere that I’m not
August 21 2026
* misheard