Long Divorce From Reality

[3:45AM at the café on General Uprising on 10/29/24]

Even before the internet, the civilized man lived in the city, saw no animals besides dogs, cats, pigeons and cockroaches, had never learnt how to gut a fish or pluck a chicken, almost never stepped on grass or dirt, was constantly titillated by bodies he couldn’t touch, spent hours each day in vehicles, worked in enclosed spaces often tiny, had almost no contact with his neighbors, had no idea if the guy next door was a pedophile, cannibal or Nobel laureate, entertained himself by staring at screens for as long as possible, preferred recorded noises to the human voice, had been trained to avoid looking anyone in the eyes, was likely stumped when asked about the color of his bedroom walls, couldn’t name any tree on his street, wasn’t even sure there were trees on his street, wouldn’t recognize any photo of his street since he had never looked at his street.

“This looks vaguely familiar. Let me think for a few minutes. Is this a trick question?”

“That’s the entrance to your apartment building.”

“No fuckin’ way!”

“You’re even in it. That’s you, about to enter your building.”

“Stop fuckin’ with me!”

“Who else wears a “DON’T METH WITH ME” T-shirt and a Seattle Pilots cap, turned backward?”

“Whatever, man. I’m at least five inches taller than this loser.”

Instead of going from General Uprising to Cóc Cóc, as usual, I’m sitting in a new café, Chiêng. I don’t need to hear Rich go on about himself, even if he’s not talking to me. He’s that loud.