How odd is it when you go back to where you've lived for nearly eight years and you're being introduced to your old friend's new friends? I've know these people for so much longer, but I have to feel like the outsider because I'm not around them as much any more. Or hosting old friends. I would imagine it's like leaving a space at the table for someone who's overseas. You know they're not going to show up, but not leaving a space for them is like cutting them off from your life. But when they do show up, you've not cooked enough food for the extra person, so they're still left out. That, or everyone has to make do with less than they anticipated.
I love visiting Chattanooga, but it is so obvious now that I'm no longer a part of that world. The friends I have there have their own lives and I'm not a part of it any more. Some of them aren't even friends with each other any more, though maybe some never really were to begin with.
Showing posts with label Chattanooga. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chattanooga. Show all posts
Friday, March 27, 2009
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Observations outside of Greyfriar's
Original post; 4/26/06
4/17/06
2:50PM
There's and older man sitting outside of Greyfriar's about two tables down from me. His motorized scooter has a worn American flag sticker on the side of it. The smell of his cigarette drifts over after the flick of his lighter. I don't look up. He came barreling out the door with a jarring bag-metal hitting metal-as if he needed to escape from some smoke-free prison. His neatly trimmed beard is at odds with his dark tan and worn clothes. His white polo shirt now more closely resembles a light beige from the dust and sweat he collects rolling around downtown. But I guess a razor doesn't cost all that much nowadays. But what costs money is a down jacket. Like a North Face or Marmot or something of the same vein. Why do homeless people always seem to have such good jackets? I've never seen a homeless person whose jacket looked like it let them down at night. Perhaps I've just seen the wealthy homeless and not the poor. He throws his half-finished cigarette on the ground behind him and rolls over to the door. After a moments pause he slams his scooter into the door and rolls back into Greyfriars-coffee cup in hand-in search of more creamer or sugar or loose change. His discarded cigarette flits around in the breeze over the dirt mound next to a tree trunk-nearly burnt to the filter. The last things I notice besides his straw hat are the oxygen tubes that I mistook for a chinstrap and the tank on the back of his scooter.
4/17/06
2:50PM
There's and older man sitting outside of Greyfriar's about two tables down from me. His motorized scooter has a worn American flag sticker on the side of it. The smell of his cigarette drifts over after the flick of his lighter. I don't look up. He came barreling out the door with a jarring bag-metal hitting metal-as if he needed to escape from some smoke-free prison. His neatly trimmed beard is at odds with his dark tan and worn clothes. His white polo shirt now more closely resembles a light beige from the dust and sweat he collects rolling around downtown. But I guess a razor doesn't cost all that much nowadays. But what costs money is a down jacket. Like a North Face or Marmot or something of the same vein. Why do homeless people always seem to have such good jackets? I've never seen a homeless person whose jacket looked like it let them down at night. Perhaps I've just seen the wealthy homeless and not the poor. He throws his half-finished cigarette on the ground behind him and rolls over to the door. After a moments pause he slams his scooter into the door and rolls back into Greyfriars-coffee cup in hand-in search of more creamer or sugar or loose change. His discarded cigarette flits around in the breeze over the dirt mound next to a tree trunk-nearly burnt to the filter. The last things I notice besides his straw hat are the oxygen tubes that I mistook for a chinstrap and the tank on the back of his scooter.
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