Diminutive, I Look Up

Outside, just beyond the dismal parking lot the autumn leaves are alight. What leaves do in the American North East is clearly unique.  I’d heard a story when I was young of a “Hudson River School’ painter who painted the autumn leaves aflame as he saw them only to be criticized by European painters who found his work too “unrealistic.”  And, he apparently filled a bag with fallen Hudson Valley leaves and sent them on to England to prove the point. 

I’m late.  It’s after 6:00AM.  The guy I’m meeting is coming at 7:00AM.  The gym is too small.  I knew this from the last time I stayed here.  There is one Stairmaster.  Someone is on it.  The running machines all have guys my age plodding along.  I reluctantly take my place on a stationary bike machine and begin adjusting the seat to accommodate my height.  Diminutive, I look up at the guy in glasses on the machine I wanted.  I see up to a runner’s chin to my right.  Quickly I fumble for music and the random function serves up Lemmy.  “Love Me Like a Reptile.”  Well.  I bike but the cord pops out.  I won’t play when pressed in.  Only when precariously placed half way in.  Is this the fault of the phone or the headset? 

Later, after a day's worth, I meet someone new in a bar in Lexington.  He had ran a company and was now considering how to start another.  I found my pitch about what I do, taking longer than usual to find its mark.  Offhandedly he suggested that people pitching to take you to other markets was only bested as an annoyance by real estate cold callers and office supply service folks.  I hadn’t imagined, I suppose, that there were many people, bothering to sell what I sell. I smiled.  Tried to move the conversation to something predictable where I could say something akin to what I’ve said before.  Something which at another time seemed weighty. 

This evening a young colleague has proposed jazz in Harvard Square.  I’m thrilled.  Straight to the heart.  The venue looks stayed, wooden as we peer in after securing our tickets.  We kill some time getting a drink at a we’ve-been-here-forever, diner.  Bright neon almost tangible, it seems to be full students.  The band is from Switzerland.  They have played here before.  They’re back.   Spacious and driving it reminds me of trilogy-Gong in a pleasant way.  The tenor player however, never goes off.  He’s brought some heavy artillery and seems timid about using it.  My friend reminds me I shouldn’t look at my phone.  I crane to watch the drummer, who has my attention over everyone else. 

Tuesday, 10/30/18