Bowling...

It felt as if pushing the doors open of Finch Pointe that morning took a little extra strength today. The air was thick, and hardly solid. I don’t know where I’m going but I have to get out of under that building. The heat as well as the confinement of my apartment were about to cause my head to explode. I look up at the the steamy clouds and wait for the top of a pan to lift off the sky with someone hungry peering down at me. “Excuse me. Could you please point me in the direction of Queen’s Palace?” A long sleek limo glistens in the sun, causing my eyes to squint had pulled up right in front of me. A limo here? A limo heading to Queen’s Palace? The strip club? After a few seconds of astonishment, the words, “Just take this left, right here,” slipped out of my mouth idly. I wait and watch as the car turns the corner and stops right in front of the local strip club, not even a block away. The driver exits the car, closes his door and heads for the other end of the car. The driver opens the door, murmurs something and out pops the passenger. The passenger straightens up and walks toward the bodyguard who shakes the passengers hand and together they converse as they enter the local strip club down the street. Who could that have been? Nothing reasonable could explain this one. Nothing that couldn’t be found out judging by the loquaciousness of these city dwellers. So where to go? There’s no way I’d go into that strip club just to see who this celebrity was, so I’ll just find out somewhere else. I remember the offer a classmate of mine made to hang out some time soon. Semester just began and he felt that a day or two of being lab partners was not enough time for us to get to know each other. He suggested we go bowling. Bowling... Who goes bowling anymore? I decide I might just head over to the local bowling alley, Garrett Lanes, see who does goes bowling nowadays. I turn to my right and see the man with the nice Cadillac I always see racing around this place, I think his name is OJ, falling to the ground as another man runs off down Moth Street. Another man stands over the body, not knowing what to do and is already looking harassed and uneasy. Should I run and find help? Can I just walk away? I don’t want to be a witness. Finding myself in this situation makes me think I am responsible for what I saw. The anguish OJ Smith was currently feeling as he lied in front of the doughnut shop was now a part of my life. A single moment, just three seconds within blinks connects my life to these individuals’ lives. I don’t want to change a stranger’s life. I don’t think I should have the power to do that. I decide to walk away. The bowling alley wasn’t even worth what I had just witnessed. Bowling...

Mofongo with a side of Moonshine explosions

The bus reaches Freedom Parkway earlier than usual. I carelessly get off and realise I had left my bag of books under my seat. The doors close as I turn around and the driver takes off. There’s no point in chasing him. Those book will cost me a fortune... Hopefully they’ll be there tomorrow because the money for them is not something I have. Feeling nonchalant since this day couldn’t get any better, I head down 14th to the Caribbean place because on a day like today, nothing could make me happier. I enter the restaurant and the waiter walks over and immediately begins speaking Spanish. This guy is obviously new here. Ugh, if only there were more Italians around here,they’d know better. With a fake smile I’ve perfected over the years I tell him I’m Italian and I’d like some Mofongo with a side of Platanos Maduros. I see the waiter exit the kitchen with my meal and he notices how attentive I am and smiles. A second later, one of the chef’s runs out of the kitchen and yells something in Spanish and before he could spit it all out, my food was splattered across the floor. The waiter, having been so distracted by the news, barely noticed his hand tilting the tray of food turned to me and said, “I am so sorry. I’ll go get you another.” I could tell that this boy of at most nineteen, looking frazzled from whatever his co worker just announced and from the shock of dropping something he knew he’d get in trouble for and have to clean up, wanted nothing more than to run outside with the rest of the occupants of the restaurant and forget all about me and my Mofongo with a side of Platanos Maduros. Oh well, there’s food at home. “Just tell me what happened,” I say with the most forgiving face I could pull out. “ The carnival is up in flames!” he exclaims as he runs out the door. I picked up my bag and run after the excitement, this is definitely something worth seeing. As I run past by Queen’s, I see the club’s body guard chatting with the local bum, Joe Johnson. They seemed unphased by the chaos compared to the rest of us running up the street. BOOOMMM! An explosion. It was probably all the moonshine those clowns were smuggling around town. I gaze off into the massive amount of curly, white smoke filling the air. A car horn that sounded too near to be safe pulls me back and I quickly try to evade the vehicle’s path. This speeding, black car seems rather suspicious coming out of the smoke of the fire, but with all the commotion, I forget all about it and decide to just head home. I’m starving.