The People's Office

Mid-morning sunlight poured into Joseph's living room. After a long winter, Joseph and Garret, sitting around sipping hot coffee, welcomed the mild spring weather – a cloudless, breezy Philadelphia day. They sat back and stared out the windows at blue sky.

"I figured out my next career move," said Garret.

"Just now?"

"Yeah. Just now. Sitting here drinking coffee on this fine morning."

"I suppose I'm supposed to ask what you're going to do."

"Up to you."

Joseph sighed, feeling obliged to humor his friend. "Okay, what is it?"

"I'm going to open an office."

Joseph waited for details. Minutes passed before he asked "What kind of office?"

"A small one – basic. Reception area and a separate room for me. Modestly sized desk—"

"Gotcha, yeah, but I meant what kind of services will you provide? You're not a doctor or a lawyer or a professional of any kind, last I checked."

Garret shot Joseph a disapproving look. "Who says only doctors and lawyers and professionals can have their own offices? I wanna help people, Joe. I'll be there for our community. I think I'll be happier than I would've been if Fishtown Mews had come together as it should've."

"Okay man, that's noble and all, but how are you qualified to help people? What will you do for them?"

"It's simple. People will find me when they have no place else to go. They'll come to me with their situations, whatever those situations may be, and I'll advise them, do field work, help them solve their problems."

"Field work?"

"Yeah. You know, research. Like in those p.i. books when people bring their cases to the dick and he goes out there and sees what's up. It starts with one person, the client, and then once I get out there to do the seeing of what's up, I put myself in the right place at the right time and other people start coming out of the woodwork to reveal whatever pertinent information they can offer. I connect some dots, drink whiskey, and everyone wins."

"So you'll be a p.i., that's what you're saying."

"No. I won't actually be a p.i. – that was just an analogy to help you understand. I'll be more of a floater looking for the right set of circumstances. I'm sure it'll be slow going in the beginning but once I help those first few clients, word will get out."

Joseph shrugged, tiring of the conversation.

"You see, Joe," Garret continued, "it's not about a product or service – that's small minded thinking. It's not about a fancy title. It's about people helping people, and hopefully more people doing good things for the world than bad…."

Garret rambled on, but Joseph tuned him out, closed his eyes. He thought of how he might spend the rest of his day off from work, perhaps a walk to Palmer Park to sit around there for a while in the beautiful weather, rather than just sitting around his apartment.

Annabeth

Annabeth rolls onto her back and looks up into the perfectly clear blue sky.  Some days, she thinks, nature just demands that we be outside.  No specific purpose necessary.  A breeze blowing through her hair and the sun warming her body are enough, today.

Two young men walk down Frankford Ave and she hears them laughing aloud, one punches the other and runs a few steps ahead and they call each other names until they're out of sight.  A pregnant young woman pushes a giggling toddler around in a stroller.  An octogenarian couple walks gingerly to the former Neumann Medical Center on the corner, now an assisted living facility.  Annabeth watches them all.

She sits up and pulls her knees to her chest and then sinks down again onto her back, stretches her arms and legs as far as they'll go, like that famous da Vinci drawing, enjoying the feel of Palmer Park's cool grass against her bare arms and lower legs.

Many a male poker player assumes she deals cards for a living because she wants to meet him.  She’s accustomed to being hit on just about anywhere she goes. 

A guy with tattoo sleeves walks his Rottweiler across the small park and for a moment she thinks it's that bartender guy with the Yoda tattoo.  She's surprised by a feeling of disappointment when she realizes it's not him.  After all, he's just another drunk dumb enough to ask her back to his apartment within hours of meeting her, even after she'd given him her number and made it clear he should call her some other time.

She picks at the grass in front of her and throws it.  What would she do if he calls, she wonders?  The bar was crazy that night and when a couple of meaty dudes became belligerent over nothing at all, she loved the way he handled it, staring at them calmly, somehow displaying great strength in his passivity.  She didn't take him for the type to pursue her so aggressively after last call when she’d stuck around waiting for her sister to stop talking to that Garret guy. 

If he's at Drew's party Saturday night, she decides, she'll consider letting him talk to her. 

She rolls over onto her chest and rests her chin upon her knuckles, smiles and waves back at a young boy and girl who pass.