Jack Barista
The great road strides out ahead of us like the trail of an giant asphalt slug. Families whizz by on the worn faded tar. Rubber on rubber, propelling their automobiles. These chassis of consumption, zoom forth from rest area, pass police traps, toward vendors and fast food joints. The junk joints huddle together, plotting a scheme even Ponzi would ponder: cheeseburgers and fats to pump the drivers and children full.
The fast food joint sirens. Jumbo neon signs bring forth their prey, beckoning Mom and Pop to stop the Caravan. A Dodge. It's American. A novel idea, a one hit wonder in a sea of foreign fish. They don't make them like they use to anymore.
The plaza, copied and imitated, exit after exit. Mile markers. Mastication markers. Starbucks, McDonalds, Panera, Xeroxed to every state exit across a nervous nation. No home made apple pie with a glass of milk from the local dairy farm. No howsey doozey to slow you down. No stories. We are in carbonate country. It bubbles and fizzes, overflowing from the glass onto the newly stained table of global consumption. Pops, sodas, tonics are now Pepsis and Cokes. They are drugs too. Nasty concoctions being fed through every throat. It doesn't matter what language you speak, we all have our mouths full.
Two men chomping cheeseburgers, talk God and enlightenment. Their conversation loud enough for all neighboring travelers to hear. The travelers shoot nervous looks and question their own beliefs as they fish through pockets for the seven cents not to break a dollar. Crisp bills with thread fills pressed and passed over and over like some horrible game of no I'm not yes you are.
Even Kerouac is pushing cinnamon buns at Starbucks, he likes the jazz muddle out by the orders of tall lattés with foam and skim. He's the real daddy. Hear those cymbals clang and the steamer wissh. Real life topped with cinnamon and served with processed cheesecake. It's fusion and it's the future Jack.
Posted by Monkeyspit at April 24, 2005 9:49 PM