The trivialization of another day is the only way to describe the routine of head down day-in day-out work, but I must retain my footing within civilized society to be visible and viable again. I want to be visible. I want to taste the sweetness of glory when good trumps evil. I want to seize the opportunity...I want to seize.

While going through the motions behind the counter of coffee bitterness, a young man whose dreams were tattooed on his body walked into the shop. People tried not to stare, as he was human, but he was clearly different, and the body ink advertized he wanted all to know.

The young man — let’s call him Stu (short for toilet stew) — entered the establishment of overpriced lattes and gave everyone who looked him in the eyes a challenging, rabid mutt stare until they sheepishly looked away as he walked to the cash register, where he picked up the tip jar. This was not acceptable. Something stirred within as I tried to make eye contact.

Knowing this could not be allowed to happen without good intervening, I prepared...to do...something...pausing...not sure what...he...I...something.

“I know that dude,” a voice said from behind.

Everyone looked to the young man who uttered those simple insightful words with indifference.

“Huh?” the gathering asked in stare.

“I went to school with that guy. He’s a total douche. What a ‘tard.” the young man proclaimed, resuming his work.

The manager called the city’s badged and uniformed clean-up crew. The police came, took a report and said it was a “done deal”, thanks to the young man who could positively identify Stu. A nice tender cut of juicy justice, on the surface, but the fact that Stu and his Stuish friends exist gives pause. The fact that I gave pause, gives pause.

Standing behind the counter I watched, saying nothing. That did not, does not feel good — let alone great, and greatness shares a page with grandness and glory. I cannot accept inaction while the Stus are on the move, acting! How much justice can be done behind the bar of a coffee house?! Especially when one is so unprepared...

NOTE: Chemical agents of decency should be available as drink additives at all times.

“Do you know where he lies?” I forced myself to ask the young inadvertent doer of good.

“Lies? Huh?”

“Rest his ugly ignorant skull? Sleeps? Lives?”

“Oh. Yeah, kinda.”

Having seen the car, “kinda” is sufficient. I thank the young man and return to the espresso machine. A thick, young, fleshy co-working candy offers another promising smile.

Here. In a box. Wearing an apron. I do justice for only me. But that must be enough right now. I must regain my strength, my footing. I am still visiting the dark side by stealing a house. Who am I to judge?

Judge? Judge! I must judge! Even if erroneous, I along with the rest who perceive the possibility of goodness must cast stones, even upon ourselves, in pursuit of something viable; goodness. To not judge is to excuse one’s own cowardice.

“Want to come by for dinner tonight?”

“Huh?” I responded coyly to the oozing honey.

“Dinner? Tonight? My place?”

At a loss for substantive words to succumb to this youthful insurrection, I nod my head in agreement.

“Okay,” she answers, again turning her lips up in invitation.

Candy! Sweet, sticky film of goodness! Daddy issues, shmabby issues, the Cap...I am going to taste the sweet goodness of being alive...or at least a good meal...or at least not being in a stolen house...or...it’s all good.

Purpose courses through the veins. Coming to life awakens the soul, the passion of many purposes. The black box of existence has cracked and the color of life is seeping in...slowly...beautifully...perfectly.

Stu will die and I will be reborn. Stu gives me life. Each day, the heart beats stronger, and a dose of sticky sweetness will pound the chest into purposeful serenitized existence!

Wait...candy...do I know how to enjoy such dark, sweet treats...can’t...shhhhh...enjoy...you are alive.