claes de vrieselaan
claes de vrieselaan
my back pressed against the coffee shop window. long black. my two companions are talking about something but i can’t talk or even think. just observe. scroll these thoughts in front of my eyes into my phone for later.
this is later.
slicked back oiled hair for aerodynamics. works better when it’s raining. young dutch man hurling down the bike path on his great grandma’s bike. wet thighs powering towards an appointment he’ll arrive 45 to 55 seconds early. just enough time to park.
car pulls out of the market. passenger passes a strawberry to the driver. sausage fingers pull back the green leaves. twisting and preparing it to pass it from copilot to pilot. suspension bounces as they take the right turn onto the main road. i watch all of this from behind glass.
dark period in italy, he said. i looked at my former housemate lorenzo and he confirmed it in his eyes. he wasn’t born then but confirmed that it was indeed dark. he kept saying it. dark period. all i could think of was il boom degli anni ‘80 from my architecture studies. ettore sottsass and the entire memphis group dominating the scene to the point that they designed a boxing ring shaped couch called the tawaraya. the bombings. the divide between left and right. the corruption, which italy has always had. i once described it to my girlfriend’s father as having just enough oil to allow the politics to move in the correct direction. now they have something else but it is not oil.
every year he visited napoli to see his girlfriend there. i was very young, he repeated. i was very young. eighteen.
we live on claes de vrieselaan in rotterdam. we are all neighbourhood friends. i looked around the table and thought the exact same thing. nothing else could tie this group of people together other than they are from the same street. the circle continued to grow. more chairs dragged in until it fully occupied the footpath. a dutch birthday circle, expanding.
he has no legs, says my gf.
no. he is praying for his life. look. car with all the doors open. half parked across the street. guys standing on the other side talking down to him. from my two second observation this is not looking good.
building up is now complete. no longer have any more work.
somehow bitter. received less money than i anticipated for the month of work i did. remind myself i will never repeat the same mistake. need to move forward and be rewarded for the actual work i do.
733 - 734 your order is ready. i can’t believe i am at the burger king. no cheese on a cheeseburger. i return to the counter. they add the cheese and give it back. it’s not melted. it’s a slice of ice cold cheese on my already cold burger. just as i thought i couldn’t be reduced further to the ground, i got this.
picked up a beer bottle sitting on the skip outside. tipped out the contents. ten cents. night’s over. ten cents richer.
disc golf man. 64 years old. used to play in some us league. loves the disc. pulls a disc golf magazine from 2019 out of his backpack. tells me he was once in a similar magazine that no longer exists. arthur haverkamp, registration number 3791.
first day off. we buy some tofu. factory direct. i think maybe they need a website. then i think again. they have enough b2b customers. why bother with retail.
compliment on my website from san francisco. makes me really happy. realigns why i am doing this. i just need to find a few more paying customers who have a vision.
i finish my barrys extra strong tea. i wouldn’t know it existed but my friend from northern ireland introduced me to it. i will see him this coming summer in edinburgh. something to look forward to.
another tech support message from a family member. something is broken on their website and it’s somehow inherited as my problem. when i actually just want them to call me and ask how i am. or what i am actually doing.
2016 albuquerque. silver avenue. don’t take my photo. don’t worry, i’m just taking photos of the snow.