Josh Blockwell’s The Cigarette Vignettes return with a stressful afternoon stroll.
Summer in the city always forces me to forget driving and take to walking. I often regret it, but it just seems inconsiderate to be driving around on bright days in the middle of July. Its early evening and the beer I had about an hour ago has just gone to my head and I’m walking noticeably slower. Eric is good company when he wants to be. I’m not the biggest fan of his friends though and I’m kind of dreading the party Tuesday. Last time I met one of them he asked me what message I had intended to convey in my last cereal commercial. Apparently he was lecturing on contemporary commercials soon.
After getting over the shock there are ‘academics’ studying commercials, I found that I didn’t have the heart to tell him to the truth. The truth was that sometimes writing is what it is, there’s no subtext, no allegory, I wrote a commercial to sell cereal. That’s all, nothing else. After some stalling and talking about his new (very liberal) girlfriend, Willow, I told him that I had tried to hint at our fear of the Eastern powers, and the influence of Communism in the West. I wish I could be at that lecture. I light a cigarette.
Eric asks if we can go and get some more food for his party. He’s intending on cooking. The idea of this almost makes me break out into a rash, but I agree anyway. He’s been thinking of moving out if the city soon, moving to San Francisco and starting over.
“Don’t you just want a fresh start sometimes? Lose track of some of those dead end friends and start again?” He asks.
“I haven’t really thought about it, Eric. Is that what you really want to do? You’ve got it pretty good here.”
“Yeah, after four years of living in the same apartment, talking to the same people, working the same job, you just want to start over. Know what I mean?”
I have it on good authority that Eric’s paychecks carry numbers longer than international phone numbers. It would certainly explain his current apartment, which, if I remember correctly, has a private ‘Observation Lounge’. In my mind, people who have private libraries, lounges, bars or even studies in their apartments should be shot on sight. That excludes Eric, of course.
“I don’t know what you mean, Eric. You eat out at the nicest restaurants in town; you come home with a different girl every week. If you wanted to, you could rent out the Chrysler building for a fondue party and nobody would bat an eyelid. Wait, hang on, am I one of your ‘dead end friends’?”
Eric considers his answer for a second, this doesn’t bode well. “You do seem to be listing a little bit lately.”
“Listing!? What do you mean listing? What the hell is listing anyway?”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“What, just because I quit a job that I hate and now I can’t afford my apartment? You don’t think that I’ve got plans to get back on track?” I can hear him trying to calm me down, but I’m on a roll. “What about that guy in the news last week, did you see that guy? He left his $100,000 a year job and lived in a bathroom in the 86th street subway station for a year. Now he’s a CEO!” I don’t even know if I just made that up, maybe I should check out the rent for a public restroom, it’d certainly be well heated. “I’ll be back on my feet in no time, I just need to… reassess my priorities.”
“If you say so. It just seems like since you broke up with Fiona then you’ve lost your ambition. It’s been a year now, you know?”
“This has nothing to do with Fiona.”
“Ok.”
“Well, maybe she made me think about where I am, and what I was doing with my life. But she didn’t tell me to quit my job. Look, can we just talk about something else please?”
Two cigarettes later and I’m still going over it in my head. What does he mean by listing? Maybe I really do need to pick up the pace. I probably need to get a new job after the apartment. I’ll have to get onto my agent, last I heard someone wanted me to write a script for a new procedural cop show. I really don’t see how my talent in writing Sugar-O’s commercials lends itself to this, but its worth a shot. The light is dimming now and the crowd on the streets changes before my eyes. Older couples shopping and drinking coffee are replaced by younger kids starting their evenings. I could do with a drink, come to think of it.
We take a seat on a nearby bench and both of us light up. I should really get home soon, but I don’t know if I can bear to be in the same room as my typewriter. Writing is driving me insane. A girl asks for a light, I oblige, and Eric shoots me a strange glance as she walks off.
“You just missed a perfect opportunity!” He spits.
“Opportunity for what?”
“You could have asked her out or something!”
“Jesus, Eric. She only asked for a light.”
“She could have asked me, why do you think she asked you? I was closer to her, and I was smoking. Why didn’t you talk to her? Asked her about her day, hell, even what brand she was smoking? She was clearly into you.”
“How can you get all this from fifteen seconds of contact?”
“I know, alright. I just know.” I roll my eyes. Eric’s fabled ‘intuition’ strikes again. It seems to work for him, but fails miserably for anyone else. He once forced me to ask out a waitress in Le Bernadin. I had the most awkward conversation with her, it was about the cities treatment of the homeless or something. I went back to my drink when I saw her reaching for a can of mace. Since then, I’ve known never to trust Eric with women.
“You should get back on the scene soon, its been too long.”
“Where the hell is this ‘scene’ anyway? If it was so easy to get on to, don’t you think i’d be there now, downing tequila with women hanging off my arms?”
“Stop wallowing. You really should though.”
“Why does everybody keep saying that lately?”
“Because it’s true. You’ll feel better if you do, you know.”
“Look, has it occurred to you that I might feel comfortable without someone for now? Besides everybody pressuring me to get into a relationship is only putting me off the idea entirely.”
“You’re a good guy, anybody would be lucky to have you.”
“I’ve heard that before, in every single breakup. Is it in a book somewhere?”
“Come on. Lets go get a drink.”
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