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imagination
October 2009 
Sitting at Starbucks
Posted on Jun 9th, 2009
by 
a.k.a. Biff Cummings
a.k.a. Biff Cummings
Big Sur
Sitting at Starbucks in a fabled section of the California coast, relaxing from a busy afternoon and all that was worrying me, I actually had some visions of something I'd love to do. Usually I don't allow myself waking revelries because they seem so far-fetched I'd never imagine them possible.
But, WTF, my Earl Grey's parked next to me, the LA Times has spent it stories on me, and I'm now Zenning with the other patrons. Two students cushed, studying in their leather easy-chairs, a couple talked quietly nearby and about four more of us spotted throughout the place.
The world would wait while I dreamed.
And I suddenly became aware of the beautiful, floor-to-ceiling, eight-foot windows which invited my view to California's Mediterranean foothills. And an image flashed to mind. Me sitting atop those foothills in a beautiful, naturally-lit wood and glass house. Late afternoon, high overcast like we get around here in June because of ocean currents.
Quiet all around with the nearest neighbor's home beyond shouting distance. Quiet. Me in front of a computer, typing away. Me, with these thoughts I texted to a lovely friend from my phone:
Me, to Her: Yer turn (to listen to my revelry). I'm sitting here at the Starbucks, thinking how wonderful it would be to be sitting inside cathedral windows atop these hills, looking out at the coast and writing my brains out for my adoring public. And they hang on every word, waiting breathlessly while the LA and NY Times' see if I'll grant them an interview. Maybe. If they're nice to me. It's O.K. if the interviewer's a pretty chick who has a thing for thoughtful, over-sexed environmentalists who have raced cars.
Her: I'm O.K. I just got off the phone with the bank, finishing the paperwork on my new Bentley GTC convertible, which I will ride in to get my award-winning, Broadway one-woman musical & comedy stage show. When the curtain comes down I'm off to London town. Catch you for lunch when the race hits Monaco.
Me: Fuckin' eh! I'd save a spot on my cheek for you in the winner's circle. We'd both allow media interviews if they buy us dinner and bring 12-dozen roses for each of us.
Her: How cheeky of you.
Access: Public
