Opportunities/Opportunists
I see an old acquaintance of mine sitting on a park bench. We have a friend or two in common and have met for obligatory small talk at social events. One of the many opportunists I’ve come across. He’s one of the self-centered ones. His dreams are getting fucked up and being tongue number 365 on some club girl’s list of annual accomplishments.
Today he’s wearing a baseball cap, a tracksuit and a pair of trainers. The outfit is all grey. He seems to be more colourful at night. He takes a sip of his coffee - black, I presume.
I notice he’s aiming to go unnoticed. Looking as if he’s hoping no one will talk to him, whilst actually desperately hoping someone will talk to him. I would know.
I sit down and greet him, granting his ostentatiously hidden wish.
He nods at me. An upside down smile, his eyes black - all of it. The pupils, the irises, the scleras. Obscuring his sight, darkening his view.
“Rough day?” I ask.
“Rough life.”
“That bad?”
An extensive verbal elaboration on his misery commences. Beaten down. A life path supposedly full of hurdles and numerous burning hoops to jump through. The average sad story.
“Okay,” I say.
He frowns. “Okay… That’s all you have?”
“Okay, and now what are you going to do? What’s the plan?”
“What do you mean ‘plan’? This is my plan.”
“Great plan, mate.”
“Thanks.”
I shrug my shoulders. “It’s clear that what has happened to you might not have been your decision. But you sitting here, pondering over everything for an hour or two, is your decision.”
A blank stare. “First: I expected you to be a bit more understanding. And second: what would you know?”
“Well, first: I am being understanding. I recognize that you’ve been dealt a shitty hand in life. I also realize that continuing as you do will mean I’ll be greeting you here, sitting on this bench, in your achromatic outfit, on a daily basis. And second: I don’t care to elaborate.”
He tilts his cap. “Have you ever been told that you’re not the nicest?.”
“I’ve been told a lot of things actually. I merely believe that being genuine will serve you better today.”
“Well, I don’t believe that.”
I smile at him. “That’s okay. I’m only telling you what works for me, hoping that it’ll work for you.”
Another sip of coffee. “To be honest. I don’t really care for your advice right now.”
“No advice it is.” Off comes the cape, on come the glasses and suit.
I get up, ready to leave.
“You’re going?”
“Yes, dreams to pursue, castles to build.”
“You want to go for a drink tonight?” he mutters.
“No, not really.”
“You don’t?”
“No, I’m good. I don’t think we’ll find the antidote at the bottom of a beer bottle.”
“We might at the bottom of a wodka bottle, though.”
I nod. “Clever… You might. You might.”
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