Yellow Balloon
Published Friday February 2nd, 2007 from Camarillo, CA. Listening to Sneaker Pimps, feeling oblivious.

Just like any other completely unsatisfying end-of-work day, I got out of my pseudo-leather chair after slamming down my phone having just barely dealt with yet another incredibly dense customer. Irritated, as I often find myself around four in the afternoon, I made my way to the elevator while trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. The last thing I needed now was to hear Claire tell me about how cute her cat was, and how sad she was that it ran away, or have Tom ask me one more time, "Why don't you like football?" Luckily, for once, I escaped their insanity by bypassing the elevator (they were congregating there) and making my way for the exit via the stairs.

I swung the buildings front doors open and I was hit in the face by the smell of crisp, evening spring air. The sky was over cast with just a few gaps where I could still make out some blue sky. Traffic was terrible. Foregoing a cab, I decided I would walk towards home until I got past all the traffic. An optimistic affair, I assure you. I didn't care, though. I needed some city-fresh air (it's not the same as country-fresh air, let me tell you!) I was in an odd state of mind. I felt depressed, tired, and sad. Completely absorbed with my own problems, my emotions, and thoughts. I was far from satisfied with life. I peered up into the sky, through the clouds at the small gaps of blue sky. I didn't pay much attention at all to those around me.

"Hey, watch where you're going, jackass!" Some man said as I bumped into him.

"Open your eyes, douche bag!" Said another.

"Don't step on my dog!" Shrieked an old lady as I almost terminated her dog.

No, I didn't care too much about my surroundings. I was lost in my mind. Trying to piece together my thoughts, my life. Remembering warm memories with friends in the past, and trying to not dwell too much on my work.

Small droplets of water made their way down from the sky, between the sky scrappers, which surrounded me. I wouldn't have called it rain, it was more just drizzle to complete the scene: Almost overcast, grey sky, dark grey and black buildings towering into the sky, grey side walks, dark grey street pavement, and people wearing black or grey coats. I picked up my pace anyway.

In almost a straight line I placed my right foot, my left foot, my right foot, and my left foot again. Hurriedly making my way through crowds but completely oblivious to their presence. Then, to the side ahead of me, against the walls of a building I saw a man with what I could only describe as a glowing aura about him. Neigh, he seemed to almost glow entirely amongst my perceived monochrome surroundings.

The man looked me directly in the eyes. He was holding a yellow balloon. I thought this kind of odd. He didn't smile or frown, but he beaconed for me to approach him.

I walked up to him and was about the say something, but for some reason I could not move my lips. The homeless man hushed me as I tried to speak.

"Shhh, nonsense boy! Forego the fake-pleasantries of small talk. You don't care about me as much as I don't care about you." The scrawny figure told me in partially slurred, allegro-paced speech. "You only care to stop because you feel sorry for me for I do not have no home!" He said.

The homeless man pulled me toward him as he pressed the string to which his balloon was attached into my right hand. Grunting, speaking through the gaps in his teeth, he said, "Follow the balloon. Follow the balloon and you'll see." The man thrust me away, pushing against my right shoulder turning me back onto my former path down the crowded sidewalk.

Without even thinking about it, I resumed my journey home, my mind racing, and my right hand now holding a yellow balloon. I barely noticed the strange looks I received from the people I passed as a gust of wind forced the balloon's string out of my hand.

"Follow the balloon." I said to myself.

As if I were a puppet suspended by strings, performing in a play, I raced after the balloon cutting through traffic like scenes always show when someone is being chased in a Hollywood film. Between cars, down alleyways and through a park I followed the balloon. I don't know for how long.Then, I watched the balloon pop and little pieces of plastic fell down from the sky. Beneath, below where the balloon had been, I saw what the homeless man had told me I'd see. It didn't change how I felt.

Posted by bear @ 20:04, February 02, 2007

Posted by xiphias @ 13:48, February 03, 2007
This brings about my unfortunate conclusion that Marco is now a drug addict.

Posted by Chris @ 18:18, February 11, 2007
lol, so unfair to associate creativity with drug use; the only commonality is the lack of convention in thought. :) Like Mr. Hedberg says: "People associate long hair with drug use. I wish people associated long hair with something other than drug use, like an extreme longing for cake. And then strangers would see a long haired guy and say, "That guy eats cake!" "He is on bundt cake!" Mothers saying to their daughters, "Don't bring the cake eater over here anymore. He smells like flour. Did you see how excited he got when he found out your birthday was fast approaching?" "

Posted by No Name @ 08:31, February 08, 2007