The American Dream

I’m sitting in starbucks. I’m listening to the sounds and watching the people. They don’t care and I don’t know nothing of anyone. The baristas are fake, the people are fools and it’s all for money. Everywhere I go, everything I say, I end up paying. Does it feel real? Do you feel at home as you throw down a dollar? How much longer can you look past the cashier and her artificial smile? How can you continue to agree when it’s so superficial? I can’t, I hate the great world of pretension; the swirling foggy outline of this and that which is true but not, the head numbers, interest rates and credit scores. What is is, and what’s not, is not. Don’t talk to me for the sake of talking. Get your insurance, sell your porsche and buy what you can afford. No one’s fooling nobody. But you are bringing down everybody. I’m going to drink my Americano, but of myself I refuse to opine. What you see is what you get, discard your whims and embrace reality. From now is when the truth begins.