A man called Luis

A day before the next day and thereafter. Always seems the same continues forth. Nothing becomes of some encounter made on the street, the bustling street, here in this decaying metropolis confined modern human zoo. Concrete paths with no real adventure--lead to where they may--may lead to edge of the city. Slimy grime and ochre colored water pools produce a stink like vomit on a rotten corpse--petrified, liquefied humanity.

Out to 43rd St. walk it like always up through the delusional faces, I pass so many. Who are all these people why are all these people? Stuck behind a man with baggage, not emotional baggage, real baggage. Wheeling it along I'm trapped in his wake flanked on all sides and nowhere to turn I must endure his slow gait for a while. Feeling frustrated I wanted to push him out of the way. In my mind he is already taken a beating from me.

I finally break free and walk around as he stares up at the sky. He's not fully aware of the situation here on this terrestrial plane--no time for star gazing in this city of un-imagination. I quickly ignore him and move along eventually ending up at the intersection of 43rd & 5th. A few seconds later and the baggage man is there standing next to me. I didn't know it was him until I saw his bags and then felt guilty for wanting to push him earlier.

I remain focused, ready to cross the street. But baggage man sees me and speaks, "Hi my name is Luis and I'm from Los Angeles I'm just here for work." Er...I didn't know what to say 'cause I didn't initiate this conversation. I'm reluctant but somehow the friendly Californian in me rears its inner voice and says, "hey, I'm Joe, I just moved out here recently from the West coast." Why must I always feel the need to give unnecessary information to strangers? I do this often without thinking or using my better judgment. I wish I could be stronger, more steadfast; blank look on face, say what I really want to say: "What, you talkin' to me? I don't give a shit where you are from I just want to get home!"

NO I cannot be like that and probably never will--some sort of internal firewall prevents it

unless really provoked, unless threatened, unless hopelessly lost and confused with a wild impulse to not give a shit at all. This man Luis talks friendly and I can see right away that he is a good person, an honest person. Just before the light turns green he pulls out his phone and asks for my number. Now, this is strange, and I don't know why he wants my phone number??

He says something about next time he's in town we should hang out. This is very weird but I can tell he means well and I sort of feel sorry for him; he seems like the kind of guy who just likes to know people from all over the place.

So just before crossing the street I give him my number--my real number. I could have easily given him a fake, a fraudulent number that would provide him nothing. Was I thinking clearly, what the hell did I just do? I'm not the type of person who randomly gives out his phone number to people on street in any city, anywhere. I tell nobody of this and proceed to extinguish it from my mind. As quickly as this happened it evaporates from my memory like some strange little dream--like it never really happened...

Fast forward to Thanksgiving eve in Ohio, 12 am in bed with Sara almost asleep:

My phone rings a strange little beep, the beep I recognize as somebody leaving a text message.

Wondering who this may be I get out of bed and go to check the message. It is there and it is surreal:

"Have a wonderful dinner today with your family...just remember same time next year it'll definitely be different!"

--Luis

Epilogue:

I explained the story to Sara and eventually fell asleep. I had the strangest most incongruous dreams I've ever had in my entire life that night. Everything from that point on was going to be foreign, but I believed I knew a little bit more about everybody just the same.