October 25, 2012

Back in the US of A.

There are the elections, of course.

And the cold supermarkets with their tinny music.

Tasteless tomatoes fill me with gloom.

On the roads, the space between cars seems far too wide, and at the post office, the get-in-line folks do not know the joys of shoving, shouting, and huddling together like walruses. And where are the octogenarians? I feel a pang of acute nostalgia. Why aren’t they yakking it up in tight clumps all over town?

At the coffee shop, the barista does not sing buon giorno! as we enter and exit. He barely makes eye contact.

Life feels flat.

And why is everyone proudly claiming (with too-white teeth) that they are slammed?  When did this word pop up like evil choke-weed? The fundamental difference between these slammed people and the ones lolling around Italy is not lost on me. Americans seem to conduct their lives on a high-speed conveyor belt; have we lost the will to stop and see?

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