This Moment is Enough
I once had an office. Well, sort of. It was my boss’s, and he never came to work so I pretended it was mine. Everything was white. White walls, white carpeting, even the desk was white. There was a big window that allowed me to look over Sunset Boulevard. SoHo House was across the street. Power players in their suits and pencil-dresses ate on the rooftop. Nearby, I could peer into the sprawling yards of Beverly Hills residents. I never saw anyone come out of those houses.
There was a colorful, abstract painting hanging on the wall. I’d stare at it when I was on the phone. I had to do New York calls first because offices shut down at 4pm PST. I'd take a quick lunch and then frantically work through my west coast contacts.
Often, I would catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass window. I usually wore a nice-collared shirt and khaki pants. I meticulously ironed them the night before. A TAG watch adorned my wrist. It took me a year and a half to pay it off. One day I went to the little cafeteria in the building lobby, and realized that people in line wore better clothes and had better watches.
I had a girlfriend. She had these amazing blonde curls. Every weekend we’d pick a new restaurant to explore and destroy ourselves on red wine and dinner. On Monday, I’d go back to my office, and we disappeared into our corporate jobs until the following weekend.
This morning I went to the coffee shop near my place. I’ve been going there for over ten years. I like to go around elevenish when the morning rush fades. I wore my sweat-pants, t-shirt and baseball cap. I don't wear a watch, but I have cool Adidas slippers. I find it easier to speed dial through my business calls, and I think I can hear my breath again.
I get a paper cup half-filled with expresso. It's just enough caffeine to power me through the afternoon.