Man On Yacht : Memoir

It was another day. They all are. They all seamlessly roll from one into another. Some days it’s hot others days it’s cold but today is sunny early on and I like that. I take a seat at my favorite pavement cafe and wait for people to pass me by. I stretch out the creases in my new trousers and eye up the leather on my new shoes. I stretch the cotton on my all American jumper and pull up the collar on my cream blue shirt. I glanced up to the billboard and it’s that man on the yacht and he’s wearing the same clothes just like me. I marvel at how happy he seems standing on the deck with a Martini in his hand and his girlfriend has her arm leaning on his shoulder and the yacht is out on the ocean. It’s one of those perfect oceans some of us only dream about. They are on one of those boats many of us always dream about and I feel like me and he and the girl are resonating on the same level. What with the sun shining and me in my new clothes. Then the girl comes to sit down again and she smiles again and I smile at her. My heart starts racing as all the different questions that I should ask her run through my mind. She pushes her blonde her behind her ear as she reaches into her briefcase to pull out her IPad. She has some documents with her too so she must be important. Important people always have documents and papers. I quickly get out my broadsheet newspaper to send her a specific message that I am noble and I know things about this world. I imagine that is what we would do on our yacht. Early in the morning while we have sat down to our breakfast. She would be updating records or important documents because she worked in places like that and I would make breakfast and clean up afterwards because I was a writer and had spare time on my hands. Too much time. Go away time. She answered her phone. It was a smart one and she’s talking business. She sits up straight leans forwards and I do to. Mirroring her movements. I catch a couple of words about schedules and meetings and then she becomes irate and my heart starts to race. Then she puts the phone down and it’s all silence and I relaxed to. It was at that point that I leaned forward and let out a fart. Not too loud. Not to quiet either. But just enough for her to notice. I recoiled in side and started to panic. I knew from previous experience the best thing to do was to stare out into the distance. I cursed myself because ‘Man on the Yacht’ would not do this. I could see her looking at me and her eyes squinted. Only once, but volumes were revealed in that tiny squint. A novel had been written in that time. The game was up and I just had to get out of there. I stood up and walked to the pavement. I checked my watch as if I actually had something to do that day. I pulled out my phone which didn’t even have a simcard in it and looked like I was scrolling through something. I then raised my hand as if I was calling out to someone and headed back home. I cursed my ass on the way home. I cursed myself too. How could so much time and effort could be lost on such a trivial thing. I went home and got back into my slacks. Screw the yacht. I was determined to find another cafe tomorrow in a different neighborhood.

a man on a yacht
                       a man on a yacht


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