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Thursday, August 14, 2003 Age Control A glass window separated the summer elements from the air-conditioned interior. On the inside, terra cotta pots in different shapes housed aloe plants with long snaking arms. From the top of the window was a neon green sign in script proclaiming the name, "The Three Tomatoes." Restaurant patrons sat on the inside chatting in front of a wall of glass vials of oil, glittering like Christmas ornaments. These patrons were perhaps retired, but certainly past middle-aged. The women had stylish platinum blonde hair and wore pastel clothing, the kind found in upscale boutiques. They had a curious affectation as they held court over their own little tables. Elbows on the table, their hands hung limp from their wrists until a point was made. Then the fingers would flick upward as if saying, "Oh come on!" Their male companions either had grayish-white hair with bushy moustaches or were bald with only a thin strip of hair hovering over their ears. From the outside, the conversation could not be heard, but one could see that they were unsure of what to do--their lips rarely moved. They kept their hands off the table as the women dominated with their hand waving. On the outside, there were many teenagers milling around the street. Male and female alike were dressed in their favorite fashions--shirts and jeans worn from many, many washes. They either had smirks ("What are you lookin' at?") or gapes (mouths open, slack-jawed, as if they constantly couldn't believe their eyes). Loud obscene rap music blared from the headphones permanently stuck on their ears. This separation of age, though, is like the glass. Outwardly physical, yet transparent. Tomorrow, these teenagers will be sitting in a restaurant, talking about Issues That Matter. And it was only yesterday that these older folks were roaming outside, moody and wondering why the Whole World Was Against Them. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 4:48 PM : ]
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