Arbitrary Apology for Not Posting in Two Months

I've never believed in the existence of "bad vibes" or their transference unto second parties until this morning. The day started off well; very well, in fact. I awoke at 7:00 AM, and after five morning sprints to the snooze button with nine minutes between sets, I got out of bed feeling strangely exhillerated. Shower, trim of the beard and an unpleasant brushing of the teeth -- whitening toothpaste: never again -- followed by a throwing on of the clothes and I was out the door.

Gold's Diner is a greasy spoon a block from my apartment, and is the cheapest among few breakfast soltions in the downtown St. Pete area. It's an old place, therfore it's fill with old people. Usually. I whistled the tune to a song I can't name (Early in the morning/rising to the street/ light me up that cigarette/ and put strap shoes on my fee). Sitting at a large round table on Gold's front step was a group of twenty-something, alternatives. You know the type: dirty clothes, dirty hair, dirty studded belts and boots, ears and tongues. I didn't think too much of it at the time, I was happy that I wouldn't be the only one under seventy eating breakfast that morning, and I'll admit, I was impressed to see them all up and about before noon. I sat down at the bar, where I always sit. Two eggs over medium and hash. That's the typical Matt Breckenridge scarf-down special. I read the Weekly Planet while I waited.

Interestingly enough, I happened upon an article about one my professors, Alex Duensing. The column was a follow up peice from a previous issue. Duensing is a professor of poetry whom I would call "Wonka'esque". He has long, unkempt hair down to his shoulders, he wears thick framed black glases, ripped red pumas that have to be about ten years old, and wears wrinkled clothes to class. He's also got an advanced degree from Columbia. His eccentricities managed to grab him a spot in our little weekly publication, after he was nearly fired for giving his entire class A's, deserved or not.

Back to breakfast, the head waitress was in a bad mood from the word "go". Apparently, she didn't care to have the urchins hanging out on her front porch. "That's bullshit. They order two damned cups of coffee to go," she raved, standing right in front of me as I tore into my eggs. "and now there's ten of them out there, just sitting and talking."

Her frustration was finding its way into my stomach already, but I resolved to try and not listen. it wasn't any of my business, after all. Ten more minutes of the same moaning and groaning and I was sure her bad vibes were giving me ulcers. Finally, she exclaimed, "Oh my god, he keeps spitting on the sidewalk." She went to the front door and barked, "Okay guys, get out of here. Now! And don't come back!" The urchins went without too much fuss, but the negativity didn't end there. She felt the need to vent to her collegues for the next fifteen minutes about the experience.

When I left, I didn't leave much of a tip. I could tell that the woman who rung me up didn't think much of me for not leaving a proper gratuity, but they didn't exactly make my meal as pleasant an experience as it usually is. No remorse here. I'll be back in a few days, anyway, breathing some youthful life into the old hole in the wall.