Time Allowed

Not long-ago, and to be precise, last century, Jacob Bruin donned a historical military friendly revolutionary war uniform then competed on the ‘Cement Jungle Island Garden Stage’. Saluting, discharging summer beachgoers, inviting them to holiday shopping festivities the one-time junior amateur owner horseman pilot lured patrons into an exciting entertaining romantic evening, where anything seemed possible, unlike dreaming executive's thin ice-skating, board crashing, just to set off a red light, signaling a goal has been achieved during mandatory attended afternoon conferences.

Following the annual equestrian sporting theatrical presentation, commanding attention, and before anyone performed show stopping jump slam dunk shots exhibited by American hardwood association members utilizing the rented event space inside the building’s athletic facility, award ceremonies featured simple passed out ribbons instead of statistical wins, commercially printed in next day newspapers.

“We had a good thing going,” Jacob reflected about the prestigious glamorous horse competition whose dates, hinted advent merchandising giving season, literally was around the corner. Taking a sip from his coffee cup, history still crept around, reminding the retired Wall Street floor general controlling the transportation wheel, use proper courtesies, handle situations with cool, calm and graceful action, “I mean our rivalry victories, never were decided until the final competitor, stopped the electronic timers.”

Key to his escorting success was having the skill and ability to travel in quick safe style showing course area knowledge.

“She's going downtown,” a voice sounded opening the back door.

“To the other place?”

“Yes, the new one,” Jacob heard putting the liquid breakfast down, checking the rearview mirror, “oh you are in that movie about the cape crusader.”

Watching the visual thespian’s teeth grit, Jacob waited for a response, “I am not a cape crusader, I am,”

“A researchable librarian?”

“No, a journalism reporter,”

“Oh, yes one of those,” Jacob thought questioning where they all went,

“Can you take me downtown? I have a meeting within the hour.”

Adjusting his glasses, Jacob changed gears, pulling out onto the paved highway. “Did you enjoy yourself at the “What Happened Yesterday and What Is Going to Happen Tomorrow Show?” Jacob kindly requested.

“Promoted my new movie in Imax,”

Hearing the word Max made Jacob tap the brakes, “now it's off to Chit Chat and All That,”

“I hear they have the city professionals spend their first office break of the day, watching the opening segment.”

Silence beckoned the automobile as it slowly proceeded, imitating a turtle journeying through traffic. Seeing the sign “Grapple and Gaming,” the actress slid back into her seat when a sharp clinging alarm sounded.

Keeping a concentrated stare, Jacob Bruin unfazed by the stranger’s conversation continued his strategized charted designed path, “I am going to take the fifth on that one,” the contracted paying rider explained, “yes Adam the producer seemed very nice when he asked me if I was nineteen. I told him the truth, Thirty-six.”

Silence invaded the dialogue only to be disrupted a few seconds later,

“I know Adam was the boy wonder years ago, when you were a star,” the rising talent noted, “no I did not cross you twice this week with seven fashion changes during the press junket, Varick, I am being very sweet.”

Once again nothing was said, “what about Dominick? I know he’s sweet, right. But if Hudson ever left me, I would just jump, right into that river.”

Soon, Jacob Bruin pulled into his reserved spot, “we have arrived, your appointment is three strides right, four left, ending with three down the center.”

“That was quick,”

“Oh, thank you for the directions but I took a faster route, cut off a good fifteen minutes,” Jacob grinned.

“Yeah, I talk to much don’t I,”

Jacob put himself on mute as the maturing adult turned around, “I know you? Don’t I?”

Jacob Bruin affirmatively responded, “I taught you the counter canter one afternoon,”

Remembering the comforting past and being energized feeling the spring street magic, the silver screen product relaxed, marching towards the revolving door, grabbing her cell phone, noticing Jacob Bruin laugh, “Varick, about that ‘Is He Real’ rom com.”

Suddenly, Jacob felt a person in his window, “do you think she bought into this television stuff?” Asked the doorman.

Jacob shrugged his shoulders, “all I can say is, its Miller time.”

“You are going to have a few pints?”

“No, I want to price leather saddles.”