Reading: "Rituals of the Antithetical" from RITUALS OF THE ANTITHETICAL (A.Glass 2023)

“So much looking forward too my croissant and coffee. And this new day…” Diarmid looks up a the clear blue sky, with a pleasant South East breeze blowing in from downtown. “...Amazing.” Nearing 2nd Avenue, she taps the airpod headphone with her right index finger, which is inserted into her right ear. Connected via a wireless connection to Diarmid’s pager. Where she stores all her music. Listening to the sounds of eclectic Jazz beats. She looks at the street around her and the various people that pass by, eyed mostly as blurred shapes.
My goodness, their world totally sucks. No offense to you all, she thinks to herself smiling. Crossing over towards Pâtisserie de la Divinité, where Four years ago she was, as a bystander, involved in an armed holdup. When a wayward son of the CEO of Goldman Sachs, pulled a gun out and started shooting up the store. The young man had been smoking crack cocaine and snorting speed early that morning, to which he went into a violent psychosis. Diarmid saved the day by drawing a concerned handgun she used to carry, a Baby Glock nine millimeter and shot him in the shoulder and left ear. She was aiming for his head. Diarmid was charged with carrying an unlicensed handgun, fined and ordered a psychiatric evaluation. Despite the fact it was her that rescued the customers and staff of the bakery. Since then it had changed hands and is now run by a Vietnamese family and when Diarmid met D’adri Two years ago, he assisted her in clearing the area of the incident, both attending the outside of the bakery late at night. Lighting incenses and meditating on Diarmid’s actions, as a release of unsettled manifestations. Although it did not affect her mentally as such, there was a need to remove the incident from her mind as a recurring memory, as being of any significance. And it is this particular bakery, in Diarmid’s opinion, that sells the best Croissants in New York City. Nearing the store she thinks briefly of the event Four years ago and how the son of a wealthy Wall Street banker ended up not doing a long jail term, he was later convicted a year later for the rape and murder of a prostitute.
“It’s a shame, I didn't kill him...” she says quietly to herself, entering the French style bakery. “...Bonjour Anh!”
“Bonjour mademoiselle,” the middle aged man says, replying to Diarmid as she closes he eyes briefly, smelling the aroma of freshly baked pastries and coffee.
“The usual?” The man replies, lifting up a pair of metallic tongs, looking down at the masses of croissants that line the glass counter.
“Yes please, dying for a coffee and a croissant. I’ll have it out front…” She turns, eyeing the street, noting the sunny morning with its fresh South West breeze. She returns her attention to the man serving her. “...Beautiful day.”
“That it is...I’ll bring it out to you Aria, please take a seat out front.”
Smiling, she walks back out the street, sitting down at one of the outdoor cafe tables. Placing her pager onto the table, she looks at the Chrysanthemum flower, positioned in middle of the table, within its slender white ceramic vase. Diarmid studies its purple and reddish hues. “And I’m meant to be colorblind”, she says to herself, as the cafe owner brings out Diarmid’s croissant and coffee, setting it down in front of her.
“Thank you Anh. I love this flower, the pink and red…” Pointing to the flower with her right index finger, whilst with her free hand handing him a ten dollar bill.
“That flower is a Chrysanthemum, my brother-in-law who lives in Saigon exports them to America. The color is purple, not pink.”
Diarmid chuckles, as he takes the money, she looks up at him. “...I’m color blind. Keep the change.”
He nods and bows respectfully.
Leaning back, she lifts the cup of coffee with her left hand, having a sip. Diarmid closes her eyes.
“Yes…” Placing the cup down onto its saucer, holding the croissant in her right hand, she takes a bite from its crescent tip. “...Perfecto, crispy, buttery, sweet flaky pastry...” Chewing the croissant, savoring the texture. Setting the croissant down onto its plate. She sips from the coffee again. “...I lost my job and I don’t give a fuck. I feel good…” She looks up at the blue sky, in a slight aura of detachment, as the warm wind glances over her face. She closes her eyes again, opening them. She exhales through her nose. “...D’adri, he showed me to relish the moment, use it and then release it. Draw it all in…” Taking another bite of the croissant, she thinks of the many times that they have had sex, yet each time it feels renewed. Swallowing, she sips from the coffee. “...Fuck, this coffee is good.”
Nourish the self, so I ain't frustrated or angry at them. Keep my self satisfied. On my own.
She looks down at the half eaten croissant. “But, can’t help what I am though,” she says quietly to herself, placing her sunglasses on. Suddenly her pager vibrates, whilst holding the cup of coffee in her right hand, she lifts up the pager noting a collection of news reports have been received. Diarmid studies the various headlines and summarized bulletins. “Iran threatens to bomb Tel Aviv with hyper-sonic missiles, if there are any sabotage and drone attacks of its military vessels on the Straits of Hormuz”. Sipping the coffee, with her right index finger Diarmid swipes the small screen for other captions. “Release of the so called Smart Phone has been pushed back for another year, due to the need for computation technology to decipher the Alien messages received in 1977 and 1982.”
Placing the pager back onto the table, she sits back looking up at the blue sky. Diarmid thinks back to the time she had to see her court appointed psychiatrist Three years ago. Taking another bite from her croissant, looking into the street in front of her, as people walk by, to which Diarmid views them as indistinguishable blurs, unless someone catches her attention.
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Reading:  "Rituals of the Antithetical" from RITUALS OF THE ANTITHETICAL (A.Glass 2023)