humanity
For better or for worse, relationships reveal the core of the human condition.
More Than Dinner Less Than Friends
I smiled when she sat down at the table. I had only been waiting ten minutes. She wasn’t as late as she used to be. I'd considered eating at the little 24/7 diner across the street. I figured I'd be hungry by the time she showed up.
By Matthew Donnellon5 years ago in Humans
The Pie's The Thing
She felt a chill in the air as she walked down the sidewalk. “Glad I grabbed my sweater,” she thought to herself. Head down, hands in her pockets she slowly walked replaying over and over the events of the evening. Mindy still can not believe Jake walked out on her.
By Catherine DeMaria Sheetz5 years ago in Humans
Christmas Eve at the Life Café
Welcome to the Life Café, open 24/7, every day of the year. If you’re looking for a place to talk about what matters in life, this is it – poetry, music, philosophy, politics, all good. Religion too, and your sex life. Sometimes even historical debates spark up, or conversations about food. And death. You can talk about death, sometimes even your own. That’s what I do here, I talk. And I read my poetry. Sometimes.
By Sandra Tena5 years ago in Humans
The Art of the Grift
Hollywood. Am I right? Oh Hollywood, you are a diabolical little trickster. I was 24 years old when I packed up my bags and left my favorite place in the world: San Diego, California. I had been doing theater my whole life, and acting had always been my passion. My intention was to go to NYU to continue my education in theater, with my final goal being Broadway. That was until my acting coach stepped in.
By Stacy Peacock5 years ago in Humans
The Dream Diner
We dim the lights slightly at 10 pm, and serve more alcohol and less food. The diner gets eerily quiet for about a ½ hour and then the best show in the theater district begins. The actors, singers, and dancers come in, almost in their pajama’s; each item of clothing is unique, most are well-worn, torn, and frayed; but loved like a child’s favorite teddy bear. Their make-up has come off, but each one has spots they miss, as though they don’t want to fully return to reality. They love their characters and their costumes, along with sending their voices up into the highest balcony, particularly the singers. Most of them have escaped a world they didn’t fit in, being gay in a small southern town, born black in a desperately poor family with talent that lifts them out of poverty, a history of bruises or worse. They have a voice first released in a small local church, then as the lead in the school play, and now on Broadway.
By Paula Weiner5 years ago in Humans
Carpet plots
Those unsure of the official commencement of the lunch hour at Sam's diner could always rely on Brian Nickels to mark the beginning of the lunch hour. The waiting staff saw Brian as a patron whose daily attendance rivaled the post office in punctuality and consistency. Its design resembled a traditional diner. A row chairs at the counter allowed patrons to see the diner's cooks feverishly working to keep up with the pace of orders that the wait staff wrote up and placed a revolving order stand. Brian admired the stamina of the diner's cooks. He noted how they effortlessly transitioned from the morning breakfast to lunch and dinner menu. Omelets on the grill became transformed into well-done burgers or pasta dishes. Out of deference to the cooks, Brian had chosen a booth in which to eat his meal. Aware of his tendency to engage in impromptu conversations with strangers, Brian had too much respect for the cooks to risk interrupting the work of the two Hispanic cooks who labored at the grill. He was determined not to re-experience the mortification he had felt when he had earned that a favorite server no longer worked at the dinner—fired for spending to much time talking with his customers. That's what Brian had overheard. He remembered hearing it from one of the busboys who thought he had whispered it softly enough to be only heard by the line cook who was working that day. But the busboys had not compensated for Brian's acute hearing. Those at the diner accepted him as Brian, the law student. Unlike his college acquaintances, his friends had bestowed a nickname that reflected their respect and fondness for him. Over time they had started to call him Brian Perry Mason. An attractive waitress with a penchant for nicknames had assigned the name of the fictional lawyer to Brian on a pleasant Sunday afternoon. The warmth of her tone in bestowing his new moniker had carried none of the vindictiveness he heard when his classmates addressed him. The top that he left that day conveyed how much he appreciated his new nickname. From that day on, he saw himself not as a lawyer, student, but as a diner patron who happened to study. His devotion would become evident in ways that were both subtle and overt. To bolster the diner's income, he gave up eating at the school cafeteria. Meetings with school advisors now took place at the dinner. Subtle changes in his curriculum choices indicated his psychological commitment to the diner. Where environmental law had once been his central focus, the vagaries of contract law and its application in settling small business suits now became his focus. The more he engrossed himself in the life of his favorite diner, the happier Brian became. Changes in Brian's mood did not go unnoticed. His peers at the law school noted with frustration that the hurling of demeaning nicknames no longer had the effect of debilitating Brian. During heated classroom debates, his breathing was even and relaxed. Should doubts arise, he would merely focus on the image of his beloved diner, and like a finely French onion soup would melt away.
By frederick Hurst5 years ago in Humans
Freedom: Caring More about How You Feel
One of the hardest things most of us will ever achieve, is learning to release ourselves from the opinions of those around us who are toxic. Especially those we love, those we thought were supposed to love us, and anyone we're connected to for life - usually via family, children, or via a karmic soul contract of some kind.
By Amanda Carter5 years ago in Humans
CIPHER
I'm lost. I don't know where I am or how I got here. All I know is I'm heading straightway through the unthinkable with someone or something I can't even prove is real. I look out, but do not see them. I listen closely, yet cannot hear them. It's as though they don't exist and yet somehow, in some way, they are ever before me, counting down to my inevitable end. I must find a way to break free of this fate that I know full well no one ever returns from. But how? How to change the future when it's clear it's already been decided? Everywhere I turn results in death and any decision I make would seem to never change that. There seems to be no way out of this story line, confirming my worst fear that this life I've been living may all be a trap.
By Paul Lorence5 years ago in Humans
Diet Coke and Cigarettes
Just the smell of this place is enough to make me nauseous. It just smells deep fried. The kind of place you walk into and immediately feel the need to wash your face. I made my way to the bathroom eyeing everyone’s food, telling myself I’m not hungry. I’ve survived the last four days on Diet Coke, gum, and Camel lights. One bite of greasy diner food would undo all that work I’ve done. One fry will inevitably lead to a whole plate which leads to a burger and, next thing you know, I’ll have ordered two large pizzas to whatever roadside motel I make home for the night. No. Head down. Bathroom. Leave.
By Shae Moreno5 years ago in Humans
