Par les soirs bleus d'été
So today was Friday. Hmmm. Interesting. And when exactly where you gonna lemme knowdat?
The thing when you work everyday is that after a few weeks you don't give a shit anymore about what the day is. You just get up and shave and shower and iron another shirt as quickly as possible and run after another train and smoke another cigarette on Bleecker St. and then push open the door and start working.
Tonight was good. Not moneywise, though. But the customers were nice and funny and no matter what I still prefer a small tip from an interesting customer to a big tip from an asshole.
And Raph was there too, even though his date lui a posé un lapin. The customers had a birthday party and it was fun and Raph even bought a bottle of wine and sat down with them and the sneaky little bastard even ambushed me so that at one point I just went to the table to bring some more water and everybody clapped and cheered at me, screaming "A POEM" and "ON THE TABLE." And here I am with my bottle of water trying to look like yeah, these kinda things happen everyday and I look at Raph at the end of the biiiiig table and the little punk is looking at me with a little smile on his face and laughing eyes so I fill up everybody's glasses while quickly going over all the poems I might be able to recite without fucking up the rhymes with a missing line and it finally comes down to 2. One by Rimbaud and one by Baudelaire, but I can't remember Baudelaire's last lines and everybody is yelling and clapping and looking at me so I put down the bottle at one end of the table and start Rimbaud's "Sensations" (I'm too sure of the title, though. It goes: Par les soirs bleus d'été, j'irai par les sentiers,/ picoté par les blés, fouler l'herbe menue/ [etc.]). And at the end everybody clapped and cheered even louder and Raph still had that little smile and then I said, OK y'all, I need a cigarette now. And Raph came closer while I was pulling out a cigarette out of my coat and I said, I know I owe you this embarassing moment. And he said that of course I was right.
The thing when you work everyday is that after a few weeks you don't give a shit anymore about what the day is. You just get up and shave and shower and iron another shirt as quickly as possible and run after another train and smoke another cigarette on Bleecker St. and then push open the door and start working.
Tonight was good. Not moneywise, though. But the customers were nice and funny and no matter what I still prefer a small tip from an interesting customer to a big tip from an asshole.
And Raph was there too, even though his date lui a posé un lapin. The customers had a birthday party and it was fun and Raph even bought a bottle of wine and sat down with them and the sneaky little bastard even ambushed me so that at one point I just went to the table to bring some more water and everybody clapped and cheered at me, screaming "A POEM" and "ON THE TABLE." And here I am with my bottle of water trying to look like yeah, these kinda things happen everyday and I look at Raph at the end of the biiiiig table and the little punk is looking at me with a little smile on his face and laughing eyes so I fill up everybody's glasses while quickly going over all the poems I might be able to recite without fucking up the rhymes with a missing line and it finally comes down to 2. One by Rimbaud and one by Baudelaire, but I can't remember Baudelaire's last lines and everybody is yelling and clapping and looking at me so I put down the bottle at one end of the table and start Rimbaud's "Sensations" (I'm too sure of the title, though. It goes: Par les soirs bleus d'été, j'irai par les sentiers,/ picoté par les blés, fouler l'herbe menue/ [etc.]). And at the end everybody clapped and cheered even louder and Raph still had that little smile and then I said, OK y'all, I need a cigarette now. And Raph came closer while I was pulling out a cigarette out of my coat and I said, I know I owe you this embarassing moment. And he said that of course I was right.
posted by Cecyl at 4:05 AM
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