Apartments are small. Coming in from the early morning run, women’s shampoo, breakfast of eggs and meat, and someone’s early cigarette mingle in the hallway. They are respectively a woman, a man, a lonely person and someone discordant in their interaction. Fortunately, they have doors to separate them from each other and none seem too bothered.
Much as insomnia regularly keeps me from enjoying dawn, I love it once there. The ground warms up and the herbaceous smells awaken into the world. It is sweet, a little peppery, and whether in my imagination or by luck of varying locations, the smell of anise rinses the air.
If I had a lover, I would make a dawn themed breakfast full of the contrasts that percolate in the morning dusk. Something cold and fresh, bright would have to be there, but not too bright. Baked grapefruit with a little brown sugar and orange zest and a side of cold raspberries. Tea sounds more romantic, but I think the strength of coffee is usually appreciated. Then ham, fresh wheat toast from a bakery, organic brown eggs with a nutty gruyere, and roasted heirlooms with fresh herbs.
Now I realize it is not all that difficult to find someone to sleep with, but a lover is a different thing. It’s a melody that inspires early breakfasts, late nights, and later arrivals at work. And they are very hard to come by. It is difficult to walk up to strangers, lean against them, and listen to their heart beat. “Excuse me. Are you in there? Do you speak my language? No? Can you direct me to someone like me?” Smelling a person is even more dangerous and threatens to illicit unwanted attention. Most of all, it is difficult to be somewhere quiet enough (and appropriate in modern times where romance is like religion in Communist China) for the conversations that wiggle up and speak above locust distractions and buzzing words. So, I would tell a child, we kiss children goodnight and sleep so close together when in love so that our hearts can whisper and paint our dreams.
This is today’s fantasy breakfast. Instead, I have to shower and rush through a couple of eggs and three slices of lean, center-cut bacon purchased on sale. The two-mile run feels absurdly accomplished. With a bank account at $4.14, I cannot afford the subway. The walk to work and back is three miles each way. It leaves me little time for dawdling. But if my feet move quickly to dodge raindrops and tardiness, my thoughts can dawdle over cityscapes, bracing for the summer cold of conditioned air and fluorescent pallor.
