This is day four. I have discipline. Four days now I’ve gotten out of the apartment and brainstormed my designs for ninety minutes before work. Ninety minutes! That’s 547 and a half hours a year. Except I’ll probably take the weekends off. And holidays. But discipline! I did spend some time eating breakfast. And Melissa is a pretty slow server--we talked for a while about her operation. She’s crazy! A while ago I did switch to playing checkers on my laptop instead of doing the oh so necessary research. Maybe I’ll use a checkerboard fabric? Plus those two guys at the counter were having such a hilarious conversation that I couldn’t help from eavesdropping a bit.
Okay. I’ll admit…I’ve only worked on my designs for about five minutes, nothing that will get me my dream job at H&M. But I left for work two hours early! You’ve got to take it slow with discipline, otherwise you’re liable to get a rash. And also--a Coldplay song came on the jukebox and I started thinking about next Tuesday. And then I started thinking about Paul. And then I couldn’t work on anything.
“And it is undeniable that everything gets blamed on the accursed blacks!” one of the men at the counter shouts. He’s wearing a knit cap, a nice ivory one, and his skin is smooth mocha. But the look on his face isn’t very pleasant. The person he’s lecturing at is Cyrus, a guy I’ve met here at Villiken’s Diner a few times before. He’s a regular and I can usually count on hearing his charming laugh when I come in. He’s laughing at the knit cap guy now, but the knit cap ignores it.
“Listen brother and you’ll know I speak true. Check--a badass plague hits white Europe and they call it the Black Death. Your whole day goes bad, why not blame it on that black cat that walked by you earlier? Call the deadly poisonous spider the black widow. And you already know how I feel about the ‘Game of Kings’--where whoever is white gets to go first, to destroy the black.”
“Are you talking about chess again?” Cyrus asks. His white teeth flash within his dark face. “Or about kings? Did I tell you I’m a prince?”
“A prince of escaped slaves, fool! If I weren’t a pacifist I’d slap you upside the head!”