Limousine Diaries - II

These cufflinks aren't worth what I paid for. Marketing gimmick by that lady in the green dress who lured me into buying a set of these with that limited edition platinum bracelet. What seemed like a casual visit to Cavanni's for a pair of leather shoes ended up amounting to an extravagant 25000$ bill for this limited edition hand-cuff, that I now carry around my left hand. It felt right when she first snapped these around my wrist. I liked the way the cold metal felt over my skin. I thought of Tony Soprano placing his finger over the trigger, and his other palm holding the smooth barrel of his gun. But that was only when I first wore it at the showroom. Every time I now stare at it, it reminds me of nothing purposeful. No one even seems to notice it, and it just feels heavier with every passing day. Bravo. Yet another useless collectible that hasn't delivered in making me feel good about who I am. I lean over towards the window and wait on as my driver left me here; to fetch that hot mocha from across the road. I open Facebook on my phone, and hope to see that red notification light up on the top bar. None. Really? I check again if anyone liked that picture of me and Roger Federer sharing a laugh. Nope. Maybe it's just that busy time of the day for everyone. What if they're all just being douche bags, pretending not to care? Maybe its me who's overthinking? Fuck it.
I stare at this homeless old man sitting by the pavement, listless and wide eyed. He seemed to be staring right back at the car I'm in. 'He can't possibly see me' through these heavily tinted windows. Even then, I get this eerie feeling that he's looking right at me, wondering what it must feel like to sit on this heavily stuffed cushion, or how warm it must feel inside. He seemed to be chewing on something, churning his teeth. I pick up a 10$ bill resting in one of the cup-holders near the arm rest. I squish it close within my palm and hold up the green paperball with two fingers. I take aim of the cup holder and toss it forward. The money bounces off the edge and rolls under the limo seat. I look out again, bored. That old man still sat there, I noticed he had this grin on his face, which bothered me. What could he be possibly smiling about? A part of me wished for a cold rain to make him feel miserable, or hoped that someone would usher him away from where he sat slothfully. His smile bothered me. I bet this no good oaf hasn't done anything to have any afterthought today, and has no plan of doing anything for the rest of the day. His world is so empty, I sat there smiling to myself. Yet, his World is so full.

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