2006-03-25
luna star
I'm sitting in the Luna Star cafe. On the counter reads this card, "Surgeon General = Jack Kevorkian." A ceramic cat is strapped to a chair with masking tape. The waitress wears a kerchief covered in peace signs.
As Thayer drones on about the molecular structure of paint, my gaze drifts out the window, where I see the South Florida highways, long and flat as an envelope, twisting out into nothing. A sign says, "Design Matters." Does that count the string of tacky furniture stores on this street...the sort Liberace would like, with gold-plated fainting sofas and claw foot Jacuzzis?
I head for the unisex bathroom. Behind the toilet leers a John Malkovich mask taped a blow-up doll. Yellowed strips of newspaper and old Christmas cards curl off the walls. A sticker on the sink says, "I go from zero to Bitch."
Behind the door, I hear bits of conversation.
"I'm going to the Hitler museum," says one guy. "Does that tell you something?"
Another guy says, "It's so cold, I should put water in my pants and make an igloo."
I peel the mask off the wall and hold it against my head. When I step outside, nobody looks at me.
"What took you so long?" says Thayer.
f-i-n at 12:14 p.m.