It’s a cold brisk morning. The air is stiff and heavy on my sleeve. It’s almost like I’m wearing extra clothes. Cold can feel like wading through a curtain sometimes. I’ve set out for my morning walk downtown through the streets of San Diego and you’ve accepted my invitation to tag along. I’m hooded up for warmth and maximum affect. It deters the wind and hopefully the would-be street wolves looking for the next meal. I hear my brother’s voice as I pass street signs and navigate cross walks, “Go this way not that way!! Downtown life he describes as “Organized Confusion.” It’s noisy with several disconnected moving parts, people, cultures and motives. Confusing to the novice but organized and purposeful to the native. Everything in motion but very seldom crashing into one another. Different than country living, the personal space is smaller but yet still respected. I assume that the siren from the ambulance, fire truck and police car is a clarion call to all that someone’s space has been invaded. All of which we seek to avoid.
You and I are up with the morning crew. The homed and homeless are all up rising and shining toward a new day. The nocturnal have retired and clocked out. We are in the mist of the shift change. Good night Charles!! Good morning Claude!! The freaks that work the night shift don’t work over and need a good night sleep. We pick up in the sunlight where they left off. City life don’t stop and we do our part to keep the machine moving. Rather your mattress was Seally, park bench or cardboard in a doorway, We all wake up together in hopes that today will be better.
We bust out the apartment building doors and pour into the downtown streets like we own the place. No robbers and thugs, just couples walking dogs with coffee cups in hand. How dangerous can this place really be? We aim to find out. We coast down the block, up the high curbs, around the water puddles with city savvy precision and continue in conversation as if we are sitting still. Our destination is the ocean. It’s about four clicks to the east and we are moving at a brisk pace. The numbers on the street signs descend as I look up and keep a close watch on coordinates. We are approaching Fifth when this window view brushes up against my right shoulder and arrests me.
Window shopping at its best. Not clothes, not furniture, not paintings, but cozy. It’s was actually the lobby area of a high end hotel but to me they were advertising,”Cozy.” I started to ask the doorman, “How much for the Cozy in the window?” How warm and inviting? The colors, the couches, the fireplace. What a hidden gem and hot commodity. Cozy speaks of comfort, warmth, peace and tranquillity. You can buy a couch but you can’t but cozy. You can have fire but you can’t buy cozy. You can’t sprinkle “Cozy” on things. IKEA don’t sell this and Macy’s don’t market it. All I know is I’m pressed up against the window staring at “Cozy,” and it’s petitioned off like a Rock star. Evidently, I am the paparazzi. Can I get your autograph, a picture or something? Cozy ain’t talking!!
Oh well, let’s get back out here and risk our lives in this concrete jungle on the way to the ocean. Maybe we’ll find Cozy sunbathing!! Cozy must be a “She!!”