Fifty-Nine Cents

 
It’s difficult to do well in this world without a conventional name and a well-balanced disposition. It’s almost impossible to succeed when you’re not interested in television. When you don’t have a cell phone. When you like to spend time by yourself. A lot of time by yourself. Too much time by yourself. When you like to read. Old books. Ones written a long time ago. It’s very difficult when you’re overly interested in the past. When you shelter yourself in an old apartment decorated with old things, listening to an old radio on top of an old fridge. It’s very difficult to do well when you’re like that. It’s hard, you know, when you don’t get on with most people, have nothing to say to most people, prefer staring out the window, in silence. It’s hard when there are only a few places for people like you to go. Small hidden places—a corner donut shop on Market Street, a quiet desk in the Main Library, the narrow aisles of a book shop that’s about to close down, for good, and then where will you go, with your shabby clothes and your lost face, and your non-existent smile. Yes, it’s terribly difficult, with pens in shirt pockets, with worn out shoes, sitting in the back of the bus, talking to yourself, muttering under your breath, staring blankly out the window. Yes, it’s very difficult to do well in this world.