And one day later

I find myself seated in Rituals in what I like to call our Wall Street district,
in flip flops and jeans, hair combed by the wind
drinking overpriced coffee, making weird faces and the mister in the business suit nearby,
trying to ignore the black musician intricately explain himself'
speaking slowly so the white girl with the accent understands him
though she speaks English faster than him,
listening now to Audioslave on my earplug,
having just finished an interview, with Faye Ann's sister who rolled her eyes every time i called her Faye Ann's sister,
in a quaint room at the back of KFC St James,
in a building where were it not for this meeting you,
as I have,
would certainly pass without a second glance on your clever detour to outsmart afternoon traffic, rubbing shoulders with talented producers whose names I didn't catch,
preparing now
for a meeting with a client tomorrow
to convince her that I, and I only can shoot her wedding and have it remembered the way she wants.
some days it's pretty ok being me