“I can’t wait for my grilled cheese sandwich to arrive, yo”, Bilta replies as he smiles, “something about oozin’ Mozzarella on fresh toasted sourdough with basil leaves, tomotoe slices and Thousand Island dressin’ makes me giddy with excitement, yo.”

“You sound so gay, Bilta, yo”, I reply as I roll my eyes, “please, never say that to me, in public or where it can be overhead in polite conversation or seedy-underground bars where people drink warm beer and peel the labels and talk of lost love in years past and the hauntin’ feeling of looking for the missing when it is out of hatred, yo.  When your problems refer to the person of the past and not the one that looks at you in the mirror, yo.  When your life is a result of those people in your life, near, far or dissappeared or the ones that you curse in quiet mutters under your breath in places that people don’t speak but make glaring eye contact with the occasional stranger that stumbles in unaccounted for to get drunk to celebrate or get a shot of something strong to forget the problems of the day in a place where there name or face is not known, yo.”

“I have no clue what you are talkin’ about, yo”, he replies as he nervously turns his head to look out the window in the café by the beach, “one does not say unpleasantries without expectin’ ideas to be placed in others heads, yo.  I suspect that you are not tellin’ small talk to me but instead implantin’ ideas into my head to be executed at a later date called half past never going’ to happen, yo.  Justification for droppin’ untruths on those that you don’t like is merely rumors and planted gossip by a low-life to steer the crowd or herd in another direction, yo.  Run fast but make sure that the direction is correct, yo.  You can have the fastest car but do the Miracle Mile in reverse and the time won’t matter, at all, yo.  You can have a 0-60 time of 0.5nanoseconds but qualifiying for the Olympics, like Jesses Owens, requires

“Why are you talking to me, yo”, I reply as I take a sip of coffee, “it’s a wonderful story for hot chocolate and roasting nuts over the open fire while Santa comes to fill your stocking, yo.”

“I forgot that tomorrow is Christmas, yo”, he replies as he turns his head back to me, “miles that I’ve travelled but yet still not to the department store to pick up gifts and toys for people in my life that I love, yo.”

“I don’t love anyone, yo”, I respond as I take another sip of my coffee.

“You hate everyone, yo”, he replies as he shrugs, “the opposite and solo other emotion besides love is hate like the only counter-act to anger is warmth, yo.”

“Cold, yo”, I respond as I look out the window to see the 25 surfers in the water waiting their turn for the next swell to rool in and then the mad dash to see who catches a wave and who catches a fist in the mouth for cutting off the person next to you, yo.

I sip my coffee and swirl around the cup as the ice cubes clatter, yo.

“Cold like my coffee, yo”, I continue speaking as I turn my head back to him, “when you are in the line of work that angers people, keep your drinks chilled, yo.”

“Not sure why you have a picture of me on your phone as your background, yo”, I respond as I hand the phone back to him, “you hardly have thought things through and need to consider that proogressive, desearllo, is more leverage where less energy equals more output or the overall efficency of the closed system, yo.  Entropy dictates that the energy in a system solo increase and your perpetual motion mouth runs but produces no output, yo.  You need to look at the most basic equation of efficiency as output over input and there’s solo two variables that come into play in deciding the need, use or desire for your invention, idea or thought, yo.  You can think of a great idea or the worst in the world but science governs results in reality beyong supflicious opinions created in your own mind and swallowed as the truth, yo.  You can create the most wonderful world around you in your life but, at some point, the rubber will hit the road and you will see how positive thinkin’ leaves you stranded at a gas station in Texarkana beatin’ off dudes from your lady for 50pesos a shot, yo.”

“I don’t mind beatin’ off the dudes, yo”, he responds as he turns his head to look out the window at the waves rollin’ in, “you can’t either spend all day beatin’ off the dudes, yo.”

He sips his coffee, yo.

“Syou said that you had a mission for us, yo”, he continues speaking as he turns his head back to me, “you can’t always be enterin’ the back door, yo.  At some point, you’ll want to be a customer and not solo a worker, yo.  You can work your entire life for the most prestigious business in the world but not be allowed to buy anything from it, yo.  You can kiss your bosses ass all day and never get promoted, yo.”

“I never kiss my boss’ ass, yo”, I reply as I sip the iced coffee from my taza, “and, for this, I solo drink iced coffee, yo.  Many a men in anger, or hate, has thrown a bevergae at their partner in a crime of passion

I take another sip of coffee, yo.

“I see that you are not wearing pants today, Bilta”, I continue speaking as I set my taza back on the table at the café by the beach.

“I solo go to the gym these days when I’m not workin’ hard, yo.”

“You hardly work hard hardly, yo”, I respond as I turn my head towards the surfers in the water; there’s 14 surfers THERE’S FUCKIN 14 SURFERS and I’m in this fucking boring ass café listening to this fucking retard talk about gym shorts while I continue to buy coffee for him and his output of verbal suggestions, advice and consejo hardly push the negocio forward like a breeze moves an Oak tree;s leaves but nothin’ else, yo.  It’s like the strongest wind barely pushing the boulder or Syphius rolling the same stone up the hill in Greece or Charon offerin’ freebies to take people to the other side of the river to Hades due to his altrusitic streak or pro bono desire to give back to his community beyond his daily labor’s to improve his life through the betterment of others, yo.  If your business doesn’t help the neighbors, why does, or should, it exist, yo.

I take another sip of coffee, yo.

“Copying another’s style, actions and words don’t make you them but you a cheap imitation, yo.  Solo the original has value, yo.  Solo the trendsetter has value and not the trendsters, yo.”

“I hardly think that beatin’ another is worthy of a trophy, yo”, I continue speaking as I set my taza on the small wooden table at the cafe by the beach, “you can beat them all off

I pick up my coffee, yo.

“But”, I continue speaking as I sip my coffee, “competition is solo against you, yo.”

“Why aren’t you wearin’ pants, yo”, Bilta replies as he shakes his head, “I understand your point but your attempt at assertin’ yourself as the expert on the topic draws much aire when juxtaposed with your disshevled appearance, yo.  If you want to be taken serious, look the part, yo.”

I look down at my neon blue gym shorts, yo.

“I was solo workin out and this is what one wears when they are exercisin’ and it makes me wonder why you judgement on my appearance is so quick and decisive when you see a sliver of information and expand your story to fill gaps in the thought beyond what is reasonable, yo.  You bring it on yourself when you put ideas in your own head without pause at questionin’, yo.”

“You made the story that you tell others and yourself beyond anything that I said through words, actions of inference, yo.  You probably already had the story decided before I appeared, yo.  You never dissuaded the predeteminred opinions that you created before I even showed up at this cafe by the beach, yo.  You fear your thoughts being challenged so you close yourself off to yourself and refuse to look at you besides anything besides a mirror, yo.  You see yourself as you decide beyond the subjective nature of a scientist but through the lens of creationism where you are the leader of yourself and a river flows out of your head like the Euphrates brought Remus and Romulus to birth Rome, yo.”

“Are you still playin’ that fuckin’ retarted Civilization game instead of focusin’ on work, yo”, I sip my coffee, “your idea of creation in the real world is void of need and pushed in places that have no identity beyond the 6-letter names that we add to things with no circadian rhythm, yo.”

I sip my coffee, yo.

“You hardly just enter your life, yo”, I reply as I sip my coffee in the café by the beach, “it’s a closed door that they press against from the other side, yo.  It’s not an enterance but a birth into the world of who you are and you don’t come announced at their timing but on your terms, yo.  You wait while they tell you what to do and what they would have you be but, at some point, you will decide that they have placed you in the place wrong for you and so you will go to where you want or belong, yo.  You, like  a chess piece, are placed on the board while the hand of the competitor moves you at their discrecion but, at some point, you will decide that you have had enough and you will push hard enough on the door that you get through, yo.”

“Have you ever tried the back door, yo”, he replies as he turns his head back to me, “if the front door’s locked that would be vandalisim and trespassing, yo.  Maybe, you aren’t allowed in because it’s closed, yo.”

“Employees always take the back door when they enter work, yo”, I respond as I turn my head to look at the surfers in the water waiting for the next set of swells to roll in for their chance at glory or simply a moment of calm as they place two feet on the board as the wave crashes all around them, yo.”

“Why do you always talk about taking the back door when you could be spending your life, or moments, in the sand with your feet grounded and your eyes fixed on the setting sun over the horizon, yo.  You place yourself in a position where you are unhappy so why would you reason that other’s are at fault and why would it be the responsibility of anyone outside of you to change course towards your happiness, yo.  Like taking poison to punish others or ramming your head acgainst a brick wall to hurt your enemy, your actions out of hate or anger or fooliishness solo work to hamper your progress towards something resembling happiness, love and peace in you, yo.  A man unhappy knows no limits to self-destruction and a man content knows no reason to move his feet, yo.  Where you are is always perfect, especially if it’s far away from me, yo.”

“I want to be right next to you, yo”. He replies as he takes a sip of coffee, “where you are is where I want to be and what you are is what I envy in my life, yo.”

“Taking another man’s coffee because you want it to be yours hardly exchanges rights to ownership and wanting something hardly makes it lawful and needing someone else’s is never a sign of hate or love but anger, yo.”

“Why do you always drink iced coffee, yo”, I respond as I signal for the waiter.digital.robot to come over, “you never drink hot beverages in impolitite company, yo.”

“When I spill my coffee on my lap, as I do nearly daily, yo”, he responds as he pulls his wallet out of his pants.digital.bizyness, “I want it hurt less, yo.”

 

 

 

 

 

“You’re kinda embarassing us all, yo”, I continue speaking to Bilta, “one day, you are going to realize that your life of chance has fallen into place perfectly as if it was all setup in a preordained manner like an expert craftsman putting the paint-by-number pieces together as planned in a factory far away called Fate, yo.”

“I want another coffee, yo”, he replies as he sets his styrofoam cup on the table at the café by the beach, “I’ve been drinking the tears of enemies so much that I’ve forgotten the taste of bitterness, yo.  I’m bathed so much in the misery of those that I don’t know that I forgot that growth is push against the current, yo.  Stagnation is merely cruise control as you roll down hill the mountain and view gets less and less appealing.  The only different between the top and bottom is the view, yo.  You can see for miles from the high ground but once you return to sea-level you see nothing but what’s in front of you, yo.  At the top, you see nearly everything but when you return to Earth, all that’s there is you, yo.”

“It’s hideous, yo”, I reply as I turn my head to look out the window, “it’s impossible to see yourself when there’s no reflection at the apex of the mountain and, maybe, that’s not a bad thing, yo.  If you forget what you think that you are then what will you discover about who you can be, yo.”

“To be or not to be, yo”, he replies as he signals for the digital.waiter.robot to our table, “life is a menu in braille and we all are feeling our way around to what we want, yo.  Life is merely a way to invent yourself beyond the set course placed upon you by your name, family name and circumstances, yo.  You have many lives to live ahead but only life from where you came from, yo.  You have many options forward but only one past, yo.  Consider that you came from one place and walked alone as far as you could go, but at some point, you reached a place that you couldn’t pass so how did you get through it, yo.”

“Many a men has fallen victim to the allure of eyesight, yo”, Bilta speaks as he turns his head back to me, “for this, we shall hike in the dark, yo.”

“Where is the dark, yo”, I ask as I turn my head to digital.waiter.robot at our table, “I want you to make a decision on what we should have next at our table to share, yo.  Tell me what you would give us, yo.  Me and this velociraptor have decided that we’re going to go on a suicide mission somewhere and at sometime but we’re not going to tell you and it’s going to be in the dark, yo.”

“Yellow Eggs Ham Sandwich Bendict, yo”, the robot verbalizes to us, “that’s what I’m going to get for you, your table, and one all around for everyone, yo.”

“Yeah, yo”, I reply as I look up at the small camera.digital.video in the corner of the café recording our every movements and sending the data to some far off place where men watch and critque and say several four-letter words starting with N and ending with END and the word NEND is never mentioned but the changes that we see in the day transpiring at night are hardly oblivious to our naïve imagination of what happens in places that are never seen full of mirrors and pushed on us in places where we are seen and why the letter Y and N and Ware never mentioned in polite company but yet they continue speaking them as if the words didn’t have value or, perhaps, they have forgotten or don’t know the story as it really happened, yo.”

“OMG, yo”, I reply as I sigh, “what do I think you are, yo?”

“If you want to change the world dthen zip up your pants, yo”, he replies as he sips his coffee.

“What’s that mean, yo”, I reply as I turn my head to look at the beach and 19 surfers in the water waiting for the next swell of waves, “you ever think for someone else, yo.”

“Pastrami & Rye”, he replies as he speaks to the waiter, “I’ll have what she’s having, yo.”

“What’s that mean, yo”, I respond as I turn ,my head back to him, “you like copy her & follower the followerss to lead the back of the pack, yo.”

“Why would you want to be the last of the sled team, yo”, he responds as he shifts in his seat, “seems like the #1 would be the best, yo.”

“The last dog pushes the team and the employees never enter the front but back door, yo”, I respond as  I sip my coffee, “Planet 238r97.SNVL.2 was once a thriving landscape but hasn’t turned into a desolate wasteland of decay, toil and 12-letter words starting with the letter 6534738938464, yo.”

“Why does that matter,, yo”, he replies as he turns to look at the lady in the corner of the café, “I feel like ones lows and highs can ebb based on how one feels and actions follow desire and when the business closes the employees leave, yo.”

I turn my head back towards the water, yo.

“You ever swim across the Sea Mediterranean.5, yo”, I ask as I look back to him, “many miles to swim before you reach shore and many tries but solo one failure allowed, yo.”

“Erections, yo”he replies as he turns back to me, “that’s what I want, yo.”

I sip my coffee.

“Huh, yo”, I put my hand in the air to signal the waiter over, “check, yo.”

I stand up from my seat and walk out of the restraurant.

I take a breath of the fresh air.

Many a day of toil may be cured by a simple stroll outside the confines of one’s imagination of themselves.

The End, yo.

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