by Jeff Glovsky
He’s becoming agitated.
At the coffee shop, with actors, students, dates and kids…the occasional businessman or two, some pets …
He’s becoming agitated.
I see him build over cappuccino; watch him rev up like a helicopter: Mumble to himself, then start to rock, and roll his arms and shoulders … flap his arms and hands, slow, mumbled speech-like first, then faster … Flapping, revving.
Like a helicopter.
Now his mumbled speech grows louder. “No, no, that’s alright, alright!” He’s mumbling faster, louder now …
The selfish become agitated. Halt their conversations temporarily, put their cellphones down … sly looks and nervous glances; ply each other questioningly. Smug, good-natured sighs of being rousted from their i-dreams …
His dreams grow fevered. Eyes wide, “It’s alright!,” he cries. “I don’t … you don’t … CARE about me!”
Stands up, flapping at his trousers … beating on his belt and on his fly until his pants come down … bends over, pulls them …
Peels off his shirt and stands there naked.
Now the selfish start to file out … their quiet times and coffee flavors ruined for this day. A little “manager” appears from nowhere. Shuffles in his skinny tie and pants to where the guy is standing — flapping, babbling nakedly and singing now, and free — and stands beside him, smirking out and staring, hovering …
Like a helicopter.
