Window Shopping...

What I’m looking at is a small vase, the size of a button, how this was created is hard to imagine. What purpose it serves leaves me traversing boulevards, walking vineyards and humming to radio tunes one only remembers in a traffic jam. I’m not done yet with you a part of me cries still I’ve got a long day ahead of me so I shan’t tally but move on.

     I’m now standing before this next shop because it sells socks, not much to contemplate here. I should get some but what a drag. People should buy these things for us. There was a time when all I got for Christmas was a pair of socks. 1996 it was. Nothing mattered then because in that year, the one I had been waiting for walked out of the cold and into my life. Before then I had never liked holding hands but I was forced to from the moment I laid eyes on her. They say l’amour can play tricks with a man’s head, mine must have been singing anthems with the stars. I grew in statue that summer making even the ridiculous pair of socks for Christmas the ultimate gift a man could receive.

     Doesn’t time just fly by? It’s as if when I need to escape the noise and tussle of Beirut my radar always directs me to this spot. Horology serves its own purpose but for me it is how a great watch feels on my hand that counts. Why are they so expensive? Status I guess, still if this part of the shopping arena allows my innards to refuel than I’m not complaining. Just to let you into my world, the assistants here also make one feel important, they size you out for what you are looking at, ponder about what you can afford and dare I say challenge you to ask for a closer look. I love catching their eyes staring because they turn to retreat and allow me the freedom to explore and dream.

   A spot of lunch would do me good for the growling coming from my bowels but that’s the furthest thing from my mind, as I knew eventually I would end up here irrespective of where I started. First things first, book covers, designs they draw you in one after the other. What’s the message, who’s the author? It’s an art gallery here and I’ve decided to play the child and be coerced by what attracts the eye rather than the mind. I can’t make up my mind, I’d have to try the blurbs something’s got to give, there’s got to be something I can take home with me. Let’s see what could I use in my life now? No, please don’t teach me anything. My brain is too tired. Horror…a bit too gruesome for my mood, perhaps something lighter. Espionage…tempted? Well I got a great film just dying to be seen so…

    Bang, bang! There’s a knock at the door and I am woken from my reverie to discover that I haven’t left my room and I’m right there staring down the throat of Google and the vast space of the world wide web. When would I ever learn that to get some peace and quiet I need to step out of this house and do some proper shopping!