Sliced Bread

In Philadelphia

~Part 3~

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” ~Oscar Wilde

Continued from Me & Him

The amount of pressure a person puts on their feet every single moment is enough to weigh the world down. It’s a heavy load. With all of the rules and responsibilities we must carry, day in and day out. All the lists of things we should and shouldn’t do, it stretches you, makes your muscles ache and makes your steps slower than normal. Your poor feet at the end of the day, after walking around with the dumbbells of your life.

It was Tuesday evening.

“What are you going to do after this whole rigmarole? When it’s all over,” he asked me, gazing with those blue eyes out the window at the intersection where a police man was flirting with a young thing in heels and tight dress.

We were in a convenience store on South Broad Street, grabbing a bag of chips and some coffee. I followed his line of vision and bit the inside of my cheek, “You mean when school is done, when I’ve solved world hunger and when peace is a thing world leaders actually understand the meaning of, or when I’ve started my own successful magazine that praises women for who they are not what the world thinks they should be? After all that?”

He nodded, unfazed by my little rant, “Yes, after you’ve quelled your humane, pacifist, feminist, journalist urges. What will you do?”

I shrugged, “If I get through all of that, the answer will come to me. Not now though.”

Sometimes a tight dress and heels are enough to get you notoriety. But the star in our little distraction wasn’t having it. The sneer on her lips took up half her face.

We left the convenience store and the door clanged shut behind us. He smiled, “Oh man, I just can’t help but think that somewhere in this world I am enough, you know? Like, somewhere I’m the best thing since sliced bread. And I don’t want to be a Mother Theresa, I just want to be enough, fill some hole somewhere.”

The heels and a tight dress had moved on down the street, at one point she stopped and took off her shoes, and continued walking in bare feet. I tore my stare away from her and I looped my arm through his and studied his clenched jaw for a moment, “You want the most ideal things. Freedom, to be enough…”

He opened the bag of chips, pulled out a handful, and offered me the bag. I took one. Then with his mouth full, he raised his coffee, “To ideals, may they last forever.”

I threw my head back and laughed. What a pair we make. Chips falling out of our open mouths, toasting ideals. But I raised mine and repeated the same words, “To ideals, may they last forever.”

We both drank the dark, black liquid on a Tuesday evening.

Us happy people gotta stick together.

Give some blood please, that’d be nice. Check out to find a clinic and give.

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