IMAGINING HIS OWN DEATH

 

IMAGINING HIS OWN DEATH

11:30 hrs. 10/05/2008 Steam Clock Starbucks

    He died with his mouth half full of apple fritter and coffee. With a surprised look  on his face he pitched forward on top of his journal dropping his pen and knocking his coffee cup to shatter on the floor. He was caught on the table top and was face down with his arms dangling on either side.

    The left earpiece fell out of his ear, but then it was always falling out anyway. His last thought was that he had a burp coming that seemed to have a knife in it so he gave himself a blow above his heart to  dislodge it and with a very sharp pain faded to black. "Sweet Funny Valentine" by Chet Baker was playing on his iPod.

    His bowels let go much to the disgust of a group of Iranian princesses and their one male companion at the next table. There is no dignity in death no matter when or how it happens. The deceased  has absolutely no curiosity about the spectators. The tag ends of his life were pinned under his body and tucked into a back page was his cheque to Hydro for March and April's power bill. He had forty five dollars in his wallet, WAM, really not enough for the effort of looting his body or even mugging him in the street.

    His iPod kept playing oblivious to the fact that "Elvis had left the building."

    The Iranian princesses have gotten up to leave, one of them giving him a conspirator's wink when he smiled at her. He pondered buying another iced Americano, he decided no. The Clash was playing "London Calling" as he went to the washroom and washed out his cup. he stowed the coffee cup in his bag and took out his camera in preparation for his daily image hunt.

Ciao, JWL  

 

 

A WATER STREET REGULAR