I beat back the rain and enter Peg's in Stamos. It's no more glamorous than the best Camon has to offer, but because of this I can sit in peace and no one asks questions. I go to my seat near the window, appropriately positioned to enable a full panorama of the diner at all times. The green upholstery of the seating is torn, brown and archaic, much like the entire District. Peg's is in a neglected area of the city, forgotten and ignored by those more interested in buffing up the leather in office sofa's Downtown. Comfort over convergence, wins every time.
"More coffee, Hun?" the waitress asks me in a fairly sullen, defeated tone. She refills my cup before I can respond, a creature of habit. It's ironic how compliant a puppet she is, easily manipulated within the unseen, pre-ordained grid of control and order. I stop myself from feeling sorry for her.
I scan the room with interest, instinctively noting the number of people in the room. Two young, smartly-attired businessmen sit leisurely in the opposite corner, arrogantly musing over their respective NASDAQ options and indulging in their self-importance. The slightly older and corpulent of the two routinely snaps his wrist so that his over-priced watch becomes visible from behind his cuff. I guess it to be an Omega. They must be from out of town, no one in their right mind would choose to dine here, or anywhere in this district for that matter.
An elderly couple sits adjacent to them, enjoying the same milkshake and holding hands underneath the table like teenagers drunk on chemical attraction. It immediately endears me to them. The old woman makes silly faces across the room towards a baby girl sat on a slightly scruffy looking woman's lap. The child's mother spits fury into a cell-phone, completely distracted from the sweet overture of her daughter's laughter. Barely audible through the caustic agony of the mother's words, I recognize ‘alimony' and ‘again' I notice how surprisingly sorrowful this makes me feel before shifting my gaze, and retreating back into my thoughts.
Those who remain in stasis are at times far too penetrative to the resolute, their moods evasive of my self-imposed order. I still remain a slave of sorts, trapped somewhere between loathing the ignorance of ‘society', and marvelling at the temporary beauty it can offer. I wonder what she would make of this...
The waitress ‘Anne' refills sugar jars behind the musty, stained counter. She has worked here for years, always doting on me as if she was the Maître d' of an upscale restaurant downtown, and I was someone of great importance. I believe I represent the last remaining mystery in her existence. She appears out of context with the dire surroundings, her unassuming, undiscovered beauty faintly sparkling behind a layer of what I imagine to be years of disappointment and bitterness. From the barely concealed bags under her eyes, I deduce that she supports a child alone, the father long since disappeared. I envisage that he resides in a pit of somnolence, empty beer cans and cigarette butts, a shining example of self-absorbed derision and idle ruin. I'm happy to imagine him rotting in his pod. The grace with which she routinely approaches me belies her meager existence, and reveals the hope remaining in her saddened soul.
When I allow my thoughts to wander, I wish I could free her, take her with me. I would personally oversee her training; show her that the world deserves to know who she is, and that she has a place within it. Reality always floods these thoughts at this point. It's not my place to unplug anyone at will. I may be leading her to certain death from the shock of learning the truth, or from a stray bullet. I couldn't risk that for the potential fulfillment of my idle-daydreaming. As Seneca's works had taught me; "Fortune gives us nothing which we can really own" His words provide a momentary solace, but never succeed to dull the ache for long. I still suffer my desires.
The vibrations of my ringing phone jolt me out of my thoughts instantly.
"Yes?" I abrasively offer the caller, mildly irritated at being torn from the comforts of quiet reflection.
"EX, LOOK UP, LOOK UP" I recognise the harried voice to be that of Esoterix, an associate, before moving closer to the window overlooking the alley to follow his directions.
An alarmingly anxious pause and the sound of gunfire permeate the air. I barely register the muffled voice of the waitress asking "You ok, Hun?" with the concern only a stranger can offer.
As I attempt to usher back the crowd which has gathered at the window, a sickening, dull thud trembles the glass. I spin round to see a body lying awkwardly on the concrete, before a second crashes to the floor beside it. Both dissolve into a haze of code and immediately alert my concern. Behind me, the baby girl begins to cry over the commotion, one of the businessmen drops his briefcase and runs for the back door in fear, pushing over the old woman in his haste and sending her crashing to the floor. The woman's husband goes to her aid, pushing past the second businessman who stares blankly, transfixed on the spot where the bodies were a second earlier. Anne brings over a first aid kit from behind the counter, and sets it down to embrace the child. She takes to the situation with an unflappable calm; she's witnessed these types of incidents before, and become rather adept at dealing with them. The babies' mother sobs uncontrollably as Anne attempts to console them both.
Before I consider my options, I look skywards to see a third figure rapidly descending towards the same spot, this time landing nonchalantly on two feet. Still on the line, Esoterix turns towards the window.
"Forget the green caffeine, EP..." he screams, before bolting down the alley as I hang up the phone.
I hear the faint sound of two rounds being fired in the distance. "Careless" I think to myself, the evening has drawn to a close but the fracas isn't entirely by cover of darkness. Whatever is necessary must be done however, and intervention appears all too necessary here. The ongoing terrorist threat had grown beyond a bothersome, minor inconvenience into something we had to work twice as hard to contain.
"Guess you're racing off again then huh?" Anne strains to shout from inside as I fly through the door, and race down the alley in pursuit.
The evening descends into darkness as the rain persists in battering the city. The pursuit continues whilst the day weighs heavily on my mind. I have questions without answers, kaleidoscopic images with no filter. I recall becoming free through nightmares and here I was, tracking terrorists on a stormy night within a dream. Here again as it always was.
What of tomorrow?
There is much to do.
