Human Writes: Give Me the Cookies
What could be better than coffee and a cookie? | Non-Fiction | Fresh Soup
I don’t know what it’s like for you, but with me, at almost any given moment, I want something. Sometimes the wanting is clearly defined: I want the light to turn green, to find a seat on the train, to finish writing my piece on time. In those cases, it’s simple: it’s simply satisfying when I get what I want, and simply disappointing when I don’t, but even then, when everything falls apart and fails, it’s simple. The wanting starts to get complicated when it has no clear object. Oddly, it’s in those moments of contentment, when everything seems fine and just the way it should be, that the wanting inside me cries the loudest. And it cries twice: once because it wants—it wants so badly, and a second time because it has no idea what it wants.
At the café where I have my coffee every morning, there’s another pair of regulars. A father and son. The father looks around sixty-five and he’s always neat and tidy. He has a quiet charisma that reminds me a little of Richard Gere. As a director, I would cast him as a senator or even as President long before I’d have him play a loving father to a son with special needs. The son looks roughly forty, he’s very tall, and always looks excited and enthusiastic, as if he's just been given fantastic news.