C'est le Vie

Swirls of color and light and sound. Bright fortes and quiet harmonies bring the java shop piano to life. This sounds like an adventure, like a journey on a path through the mountains with a waterfall close by. This sounds like Africa. Like the quiet afternoons on hotter days. Somewhere, a man beats a jimbabwe and another strums a guitar. It all slows down and it is midnight. In a forest by a babbling brook, two lovers meet for the last time. Their bittersweet hearts hang on their bittersweet faces. Fingertips smooth over cheeks as they stare into each other's souls, memorizing them as not to forget. She parts from him and steps out into a world which will never believe. He hears the scream and the world goes grey, then fades to black. Ages later two children run through a wheat field with a puppy nipping at their heels. Silent laughter fills the air in this moment in time in the spring of life. The sky is a thoughtful blue, the blue that says, "I have seen everything and will never forget". The first buds burst into a multi-hue of blooms as a classical concerto is heard miles away pounded on a grand piano. The ballroom shimmers with diamonds and burgundy drapes over all. The piano is accompanied by the silvery notes of violins and the dancers gather in the center. Their bodies are made into poetry as the young look deep into each other's eyes and the old ones smile with the wisdom of their years. It's evening in France. The lights sparkle in the city and rich widows window-shop with their yappy little dogs. Models walk with designer flair down the streets with their gentlemen in tow. In a café, a whore flirts shamelessly while a young girl waits for her lady. They plan to walk along the river and drink cheap Merlot reveling in each other's company. The festival has begun in Ireland. The castle stands on a hill of green velvet and the sea wears a shawl of the clearest blue. In the courtyard, the bagpipes wail merrily as young lasses blush when their partners ask them to river dance. Jesters wild and banners glaring in the noonday glimmer. It is so grand to be young and alive in autumn. In Seattle just outside a coffee shop on a corner, a rocker dude waits for his van. Sex, drugs, and rock n roll had nothing on this guy and he winks at every passing miniskirt. A chick in a grey sweater and a green beret walks with a notebook in her hands and a pen between her teeth. He doesn't wink at her and she doesn't care. She steps into the quiet shop and orders a mocha with cherry and extra hot. She sits in a window and watches the world go by and of the faces she never cares to meet. There is a man in a black trench coat acrossed the street. He sells dime bags to kids and eats a bag of cheetos. He gets bad headaches when he gets withdrawals and lies in the fetal position screaming into a pillow. When night comes, he stares at the sky in the endless pursuit of stars which will never show themselves.

©Lunnette Nyx

The Coffee Shop

In Seattle, just outside a coffee shop on a corner (for there is a coffee shop on every corner), a rocker dude waits for his ride. Sex, drugs, and rock n roll had nothing on this guy and he winks at every passing miniskirt. A chick in a grey sweater and a green beret walks with a notebook in her hands and a pen between her teeth. He doesn’t wink at her and she doesn’t care. She steps into the coffee shop and orders a mocha with cherry and extra hot. She sits on a window sill and watches the world go by and all of the faces she never cares to meet. Bright fortes and quiet harmonies bring the piano to life in a weird mixture of jazz, reggae, and the blues . The player’s salt and pepper hair hangs in strings under his beanie as his fingers grace the keys with a master’s proficiency. His teeth flash in the light from the window and his crow’s feet speak of a jolly nature. A young man with thick-rimmed specks sits at one of the tables under the quirky spiral hanging lamps, studying a theory of actual reality written by a 19 year old kid. He pushes his glasses up on his nose and is momentarily distracted by a young lady watching him intently from the faux-mahogany counter with her cappuccino shifting from hand to hand because of her absent-minded blunder of not grabbing a cup-sleeve. She’s seen him around campus and usually watches him from the 2nd story window in the library. A man comes out of the restroom and orders a black coffee and glances at the Seattle Times muttering something about fascism and blueberry muffins under his breath. The barista serves the man his coffee and looks around the room. He never closes until the chick in the sweater is ready to leave because she is always the first to get here and always the last to leave. And he knows she always orders a mocha with cherry and extra hot.

©Lunnette Nyx