I’m hoping to meet a heavy set big nosed aging French movie star here. I’m going through an existential crisis and, for some reason or perhaps no reason whatsoever, I’m expecting Depardieu to come by this lonely nondescript curb where I sit listlessly.
My friend, or perhaps a stranger who’s name is unknown to me, waits here, too. To pass the time, we talk.
Me: Nice weather.
Me: Think it might rain?
Stranger: Maybe. Dunno.
Me: Would you stop staring at your goddam phone?
Stranger: Sorry. Just gotta send this tweet.
Me: You do realize that we’re facing nothingness, don’t you?
Stranger: Yes. Surely. How so?
Me: I don’t know how, but it’s certain.
Stranger: It is.
Me: Is there nothing we can do?
Stranger: I fear that is the case.
Me: We’ll ask Depardieu when he gets here.
Stranger: Yes. But when will he get here?
Me: You’ve got the smart phone. Text him.
Stranger: Out of power.
Me: Got a charger?
Stranger: No place to plug it in.
We both go quiet. We look left and right. We look up and down.
Me: Are you sure he’s coming?
Stranger: He said he’d be here.
Me: He’s not.
Stranger: He’s late.
Me: Or not coming at all.
Stranger: What should we do now?
Me: I don’t know. Maybe Depardieu will know when he get here.
Stranger: If he gets here.
We fall asleep by the dusty curb. Tomorrow, we’ll wake up and have the same conversation again as we do every day. Unless Depardieu comes. It could happen. It could happen tomorrow. Right?