Flick

December 4

Dear Wichita,

Anna showed up fashionably late for coffee at Hock’s yesterday. She was wearing a Gore-tex jacket, her hair hidden under a trendy knitted hat. Her earphones were tucked inside the hat.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“What are you listening to?”

“Joni Mitchell, her Both Sides Now re-issue.”

“Is that the one with the painting of her smoking on the cover?”

“Yea. It’s a good album. Doesn’t feel as old as it should.”

We drank coffee and chatted about random things, music, news, the weather. Of course we talked about the weather.

She has bright, busy eyes. They flick around, watching people for split seconds and then moving off again. I found it kind of distracting at first, but she always looked me in the eye when I was saying something.

Her job was okay, her commute was decent, and the people she worked with didn’t play too many games. She wanted to know more about Kansas, why I was way out west instead of, as she smilingly said it, “at home driving a combine.”

“Not every one from Kansas drives a combine you know. Does everyone from Seattle listen to Nirvana?”

“I know I know.”

“Sheesh. No I came out west for a change of scenery. I wasn’t feeling like I fit it so well anymore. In Wichita I mean.”

“Why not?”

“Ah, um. Well I wanted to get more into the arts scene, especially photography, and Wichita is a little red-neckish when it comes to that kinda thing.” I think my eyes flicked.

She nodded, looking at me intently.

I shifted in my seat, looked out the window.

Hock's Cafe II

December 3

Dear Wichita,

I'm writing you from Hock's Cafe where I'm letting my mug of java cool off, steam swirling into the air. You have to be patient for some things in this world.

I spent this morning in a used CD store, a hole in the wall that was playing Woody Guthrie on the fuzzed out speakers. I wandered the bumpy aisles, nosing through the collection of discs for about an hour or so. I can't go into a store like this and be out again in less than an hour, it seems.

Mitch was running the till. He looked to be about 37 or so and probably had dropped his share of acid in days gone by. He nodded as I came through the door and then went back to staring at the wall, lost in Guthrie's Dust Bowl Ballads.

I bought a couple of old Tom Waits albums, one of which I think I may have owned and lost previously. I paid Mitch, who nodded again and told me to "have a good one."

I don't think he meant it.

Anna is supposed to meet me here for coffee in a half hour or so. I'm early on purpose.