Just a Mocha..
This place defines Timelessness. In that, one’s sense of time becomes obscure. It is one thing to step off the boat, onto an island of oddities, but here, it is as if you step off the track of time itself.
We had coffee at 2. The shop wasn’t closing and the usual baristas still had fire behind their eyes. We sat on the dock among the sail boats and the sailors. Strong breeze from the west whipping sails and tossing the surf onto the beachside. Sipping the hot elixer, no sense of time.
We arrived at the brewery by 4. Heavy in the thump of music, some nameless garage band, its members in the typical cut off shorts, brightly coloured plastic shades, and ragged metal band t-shirts. They were an image of Eugene, and for a moment I was lost. Microbrew filling cups and the smell of Texas BBQ in the air. But no sooner had we arrived, than they stepped from the stage, and the portly Australian man took their place. He wore a light mens sun hat and a hawaiian shirt and didn’t seem to care much whether he knew what he was talking about or not, as he read off items up for auction. I look around, squinting in the sun at all the aged people, and remember where I am.
There is no coffee the next day. Just the leisurely pace at which we chose to rise. We make it to the small, dusty market by 2. Inhabiting one small corner of a parkinglot, kiddy corner to the gas station. It is bright with fruit and vegetables, as any market, but in the afternoon sun we don’t see much. We don’t need much.
We arrive at the cidery just after. It is a playground full of families. The smell of wood stove pizza is in the air and a band stands on the stage. The farm seems set up for entertainment. We eat pizza on thin crust and sip crisp cider as the band plays a tune. Someone orders shots, and my father and I down 3 oysters each. I look around, smiling into my cup at the children running everywhere, not sure of who I am.
I woke up and we headed to the theater. The oldest theater in the state. I am not surprised to be surounded by heads full of grey and white hair. No one sits infront of me, and I kick my shoes off and curl my feet under me. The movie starts, and for 2 hours, 240 minutes, I let Christopher Nolan take control of my mind, play with my sense of time. I watch as he flawlessly weaves 3 different stories, about 3 different groups of people, over 3 different frames of time. It is like tasting the richest chocolate cake, hearing the most beautiful poem read aloud, being witness to true magic. I step from the theater into the sun, and I am timeless myself.