Nobody tells you that life is not like in the movies, they let you figure it out by yourself. No big events, no spectacular happenings. It was smooth sailing through the murky waters of existence for Mr. Murphy. He was staring through the glass walls of the store looking at the passers by on Moore street. He liked looking at them, so colorful and so different, this was one of the little things he liked about his job, he could look at people and nobody thought it was strange. They did not pay too much attention to the old and fat security guard watching them from the cheap store.
How do you put your past behind you? How do you do that? How do you put it all out of your mind and move on? Time heals all wounds they say, but how do you forget? You don’t, he thought, while looking at the black water of the Liffey. He was down, he felt his feelings drowning him as if he were under the very water below his feet. He desperately wished he did not feel like this, to have the strength to put it all behind him and move on, and enjoy the normal life he had built for himself now. The thing that hurt him the most was his shame. He was ashamed, he felt queasy only when he thought at some of the things he had done, it took all his will not to throw up. How could he do that? He had to. Had he now?
Morning. The song rang in her head making her feel hopeful. New day, new dawn. She looked outside and thought at all the times she felt like this. Hopeful. Sometimes the hope became reality, sometimes it did not, but the new days kept coming, and the dawns kept passing. Win some, lose some, the pleasure is in the game, and she so loves the game with all it entails, the good, the bad and the hope.
In the bus stop four strangers drink coffee and smoke. They seem relaxed in each other's company, this is not their first morning together. They are strangers that know each other. The old security guard, the construction worker, me and another guy.
Such a mindfully lovely morning. The air is crisp and refreshing. The birds are flying around speaking to each other about things I do not understand. The street is so quiet and empty, that if two strangers pass each other by they say "morning!". Cars swing by with a rushing sound, the houses still asleep. Such a crisp and quiet morning on the empty street. Mindfully lovely.
A bit of animism is good, it gives life a tad of magic. I like to think that the house I live in has a soul, a good spirit. But too much animism can lead people to be called Mrs. Eiffel.
Mrs. The Eiffel Tower that is.