A Small Life

Here's the plan.

Gonna buy me a place in Pickle Pride, Louisiana. Nothing fancy. Small place right on the Atchafalaya River.

Two bedrooms, just in case friends and relatives feel the need to check up on me. Small kitchen; I won't need much because I will be eating out or ordering out frequently. A den. Dark paneling, low lighting except the light behind my recliner. Reading is my salvation and I need it to come easy.

Two bathrooms. Again, for those friends and relatives, who may never show up. But you never know.

Gonna wear silk shirts with floral prints. Linen pants. Italian leather shoes for Friday night, or any other night I care to indulge my needs - booze and blues. I suspect my weeks will consist of multiple Friday nights.

Gonna hire me a cleaning lady. Older woman, worldly and wise. Someone who understands life's real truths - the truths that lie just below the surface. 

We will have an honest relationship. No bullshit. No artifice. We'll sit at my kitchen table when she's done cleaning and enjoy meaningful conversations; we will never once talk about the fucking weather. We will sip premium booze. I will tip her extravagantly, much to her chagrin.

Gonna find me a hole-in-the-wall restaurant that will become my place. The waitresses and bartenders will greet me warmly; the warmth will be reciprocated. We'll talk about each other's lives. And bust each other's balls. Laugh together, and cry when it's appropriate.

The food will be superb, the drinks heavy-handed, and the atmosphere welcoming.

Gonna find me a bar. A real bar, with character. Dark but not sinister. The bar itself will be scratched and dinged but not to the point of disrepair. It will have a brass footrail. 

It will hold within it all the tears and laughter and lies and love and triumphs and tragedies of every customer who had the guts to reveal honest emotion there. But it will not beat you over the head with these memories. Their essence will exist there subtly, gentle reminders of the complexities of life.

The bar will have live music seven nights a week. And no stiffs; only accomplished musicians who communicate with fierce, creative honesty through their instruments. Words are never adequate.

They will get to know me, I will get to know them. We will talk, buy each other drinks. Laugh a lot. We'll talk about music and how it doesn't just express life, it is life. Our souls will connect through the music, and we will be better for it.

Yeah, going down to Pickle Pride, Louisiana to live me a small life. A life informed by my soul in all its purity and intensity, and nothing else. No dishonesty, no lies, no distractions. No playacting.

Gonna live me a small life but a powerful one.