Living in the satellite offices of the world

Outside my small apartment on Saint Jacques Street
Every few days there is a crazy man who screams to unknown foes

His anger darkens the sky’s and the street and causes pedestrians to cross to the other side

I say he is crazy, because he is, it is not a label to make me feel better about myself

He only wears black

His clothes are worn and unkept

But not dirty

His shoes are laced His hair and beard are no longer than the hipsters that also walk Saint Jacques

Today he shouted “I am Living in the satellite offices of the world” I watch him from my 3rd floor window as his voice carries, now he is past my vision “I am Living in the satellite offices of the world” he repeated around the corner and out of sight

I watched the sky and street come back to light “I am Living in the satellite offices of the world” echo’s and repeats

Me too, I thought