Menus

   The shop looks different –it’s fuller. There are more employees than before. It feels strange to be here,

yet comforting. A pretty brunette behind the cash register, with her apron tied both around her neck and around her waist, stares down at my coupons with suspicion. It’s obvious she has never seen them before, but apparently she doesn’t care enough about 48¢ to call over the manager. I feel her eyes on me next, expecting a comment.

  “The menus have changed.”

Laundry

   Everything is packed now; stowed away in the black bag. I fit the bottle of detergent in at the end and tie off the knot neatly. I wish for the door to open or for at least a commotion, for something else to happen, so I can have an excuse to ask questions. The knot is secured thrice, then again. There barely enough rope left for me to use as a handle. I lean forward over my bag and rest my weight there for a moment, letting myself drip forward until my hair just about brushes the polished wood of the bench. Before I go I’ll buy something from the vending machine, something sweet to eat on my way back to Adam’s. Man, I need a little sugar in my system. The unused change I fished out from Adam’s coin jar sits heavily at the bottom of my pockets, and as I stand they clash and jingle.

   Making my way over to the vender, I pass by the lovebirds that came in earlier. They perch giggling in their corner of the store. The boy looms over the girl as he helps her measure the correct amount of powdered soap to use. Somehow, this is funny to them –really, really funny. I make it to the glass case, but not without peeping back at the two a few times. In front of me there are rows and rows of sugary treats, as well as crisps to choose from. Refreshingly enough, none of these packages advertise being a healthy alternative. I take my time looking through my options and do not notice the footsteps approaching me. My fingers insert the coins and order automatically, as I divert my attention to something else ­–someone is beside me, blocking the light coming from the rest of the store. Without my knowing, the couple had made their way up to the back door. They’re smiling at me now from the threshold. They’re smiling the smile that strangers do when you pass them on the sidewalk, a reserved but polite one as if to say “Hello. I don’t want to strike up conversation but I want you to like me for the two seconds we will smile at each other.” They do not wait for me to return the gestures before shifting into the back room.

   I try to look past the couple, to see what is beyond the door, but the girl –so cleverly with her hair, so cleverly with her thighs– blocks my every attempt. The door swings shut with a smug click. I stand very still, so still, moving so little, breathing so lightly, that I think I can hear the others on the far side of the door. At first there’s only a low hum, something like busy chatter; then a clicking, or settling, perhaps chairs being rested in; a hum again, and now a soft thud accompanied by a crinkling. The humming repeats, then the click as well. I knit my brows together, pulling my face tight for a moment. What is beyond the door? What were those noises? Where are the fat man and the one who was flirting with the clerk? The clerk. The clerk must know what the door is hiding. Well she tell me? It’s not a secret, right? This is a laundromat. She’ll tell me. I’ll just casually mention it. Yes, when I pass by to leave. Yes, on my way out. I’ll ask her about something else first to not seem weird or out of the blue. Yes, maybe for a business card, their usual hours, if they have membership discoun-

   “Is there a problem with the machine?” The girl behind the counter is looking at me now; her magazine is closed and on the pile. She reaches for another from off the rack behind her.

   “I’m sorry?” I call back.

   Her face disappears in an old edition of US Weekly. “Did you get what you paid for?”

Heart-Mantra

TAYATA / OM BEKANDZE BEKANDZE / MAHA BEKANDZE RADZA / SAMUDGATE SOHA

OM:  the under-current tone of the universe

Bekhajye bekhajye:  do away with the pain of illness

Maha bekhajye: do away with the pain of illness (of the darkness of Spiritual Ignorance)

Samudgate: the supreme heights. (my prayer shall go to the supreme heights)

Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, And Spring Again

"Say 'sorry'"

There's something so simple and elegant about an apology. Don't you agree?
There's something so simple and elegant about an admission of guilt.

View Finder (2)

1. Her face looked as tired and weary as a well worn leather shoe. Her cheeks dropped and her mouth was surrounded but a barrage of lines that seemed to connect every feature on her face. She wasn't particularly sad looking, but the way her eyes hung made her seem as if she could be.
   
   
   
2. They were knitted more tightly together than the threads of my sweater
   And between them were sharp lines that ran straight, deep, and firm.
   Those lines looked as if they would hurt to touch.
   
   
   
3. The ridges and valleys decorated the land. They crashed into each other and ran wild without regard for direction. I understood then how easily someone could loose themselves in the sandy coloured  ground that seemed to melted into a spare forest of grey.

Marvel or DC?

“So... Marvel or DC?”

I looked up from my little section of the new arrivals table and stared at the man across from me. “I’m sorry?”

“I said, Marvel or DC?” A smug smile formed on his face as he then announced, “I bet you’re Marvel, aren’t you? All girls are Marvel. It’s a thing! Well, I’m DC! Marvel can suck my–” I returned my attention back to the glossy covered comics in front of me and tried not to open up a whole can of kick-butt on this stranger and his pseudo-science.

Marvel or DC? It’s the inevitable question. No matter what comic book store or convention you go to, or related conversation you have, that question will arise. People expect you to align yourself with one side or the other and if you do not pick you will be treated as if you are some wishy-washy, indecisive outlaw.

If most people would agree that art is not a sport, then why do we approach this artistic endeavor with a sports mentality? Marvel or DC? So which team are you on? What? No. I am on neither team, because this is not a team sport. These are comic books! No one should have to choose between Marvel and DC; nor should they. It is impossible to prescribe the title of winner or loser in the world of art. There are no rules here to abide by and there is no set finish line to cross, no ball to carry to touchdown. That being said, even if there was some sort of situation in which you absolutely had to choose between one or another, do not choose between the companies that produce the comics, choose between actual content creators.

The comic book world is an anomaly. It’s similar to the video game world, in the sense that company names are very closely associated, if not more important than the product. Though then again, it’s not quite so simple. One video game requires dozens and dozens of programmers, animators, audio engineers, game designers and scriptwriters –who all belong to the company. In this case it makes sense for the company name to represent the efforts of all of the employees. However, for a comic book series, often only one writer, artist, and colourist are needed –all of who may not be exclusive to their current publisher.

Perhaps then, the comic world is more comparable to the literary one? Again, not exactly. The relationship an author of a novel has with his or her publisher is wildly different from one a comic author or artist has. When you think of the Harry Potter series, it’s not Bloomsbury Publishing that you credit for the genius story, but J.K Rowling. The same cannot be said for the Superman franchise (which is arguably even more well known). Rather than the names Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, readers recognize the DC brand, stamped on the corner of each issue, as the father of the Man of Steel.

I lingered a little longer in the shop after the stranger left. As I made my way around to his side of the table I picked up a few stray comics that he left out. I filed away Daredevil, tucked the Justice League into its original place and placed Green Arrow back on the correct pile. The girl behind the counter peeked over her computer screen and said, “Hey, you don’t need to do that. Just leave ‘em there I’ll get them in a sec.”

“It’s okay. I really don’t mind.”

“Ehhh. Alright, thanks, man. Hey! So, you thinking about getting the new X-men? I hear it’s pretty crazy.”

“Totally! Brian Michael Bendis is so cool.”