I’ll warm myself be the flames as the cities burn #3
I got a Dunkin card for Christmas, and after watching the Prince of the eight dollar grande, mocha , coconut milk, no foam latte, declare his candidacy to save this great country by the sheer power of his Starbuckyness. I felt the need, nay the duty to get a tall DD ice coffee.
It's 50', in February , in New England. Which has the feel of the two headed calf or other harbinger of doom and causes the locals to peer about suspiciously, feeling comfortable enough to remove their Mad Bombers but nevertheless keeping them within easy reach in the front pocket of their salt stained North Face.
The Dunkin is kitty corner from the harbor and the thought of kicking back on a bench , in the sun, watching the ferry come and go smacks of the term simple pleasures I heard so much about. I cut behind the shop that repairs lobster traps maneuvering around huge piles of gayly colored nylon line when I'm honestly surprised for the first time in months.
Frank from the T-Mobile store, in his short sleeve white button up dress shirt , pleated khakis and Frank name tag is knelt over a small fire made from copies of the local free press.
Next to him is a yellow styrofoam supermarket chicken container with one leg, thigh cut. It's mate Frank is holding by the drumstick over the fire in a manner which would lead one to believe he is cooking it.
"What's up Frank?" I ask genuinely interested in something for the first time in a long time.
Frank's looks up, he's got one of those faces that are old and young at the same time. He could be anywhere from 20-50 and the bowl cut and confederate cosplay wire-rim glasses don't help. "Morning." He says cheerfully.
"Whatcha doing Frank?" I ask hunkering down next to him.
"Living off the land." He says taking the blatantly under cooked chicken and tearing of a big chunk, the blood streaming down his chin causes me to wince.
"Think that's a good idea Frank?"
"Sure do." He says putting the partly masticated poultry back over the small sputtering fire. "You know what isn't? Just had a kid my son went to school with. Now he's working in Portland as a CNA. Came in to by a new phone which was eight hundred and change. It did nothing that his last phone didn't do, maybe faster...maybe. Had to have it though, spread it out over three cards, maxed out two, with interest by the time he pays it off a 800.00 phone will run him around five grand. That make any sense to you?"
I had to admit it didn't.
"The wife is spending money we don't have on fuckin scrap booking, my 23 year old son appears to be getting a degree in something called Overwatch. You give me a valid reason to go back in that corporate glory hole and sell shit nobody needs I'll shut down this BBQ and turn to."
I got nothing, I hand him my ice coffee, stand up and leave doing my best not to throw my phone in the ocean...