It’s humid. I forgot how humid it gets during the summer in Illinois and I hate it. I miss the aridity of Colorado and New Mexico. New York is humid (especially in August), but not like this. This is oppressive humidity. The air is heavy. It weighs on you. Of course, as I write this, I am sitting inside an air conditioned Starbucks.
I can’t help but overhear the two men next to me talking about “making high six figures” and their careers selling insurance products. Then there is the buying of multiple houses, a Lexus, and various other “necessities.” The younger man in his twenties sports a horrible looking dress shirt with monogrammed french cuffs. Does a monogrammed cuff still impress anyone? In fifteen years this man will be Lumbergh, right down to the suspenders, mmmmkay.
Their world is not one I can relate to, and never could. Back when I did the “corporate type” job, I used to get asked why I hadn’t bought a BMW yet, since it would “look more successful” than what I was driving. Because I didn’t need one and didn’t have any particular desire to have one. That said, I do love a fine motor car, and if I had the resources I would buy a Ferrari 308 in a New York Minute. Hey, who wouldn’t want the Magnum P.I. Ferrari?
But these things don’t matter. Not in the least. For the moment it’s just the savanna, the silo, and the oak tree.