Cathedral

Late night bar.

A conversation, between two other people, about me that I have a hard time following because I had to much to drink, to quickly.

Then a stumble home.

Pizza.

A walk to a car.

Sleep.

Alarm instantly after I close my eyes.

I snooze, then shower, then dress then walk out the door. My head and body ache from misuse, and sin. I take advil for the first time in a year, just in case. Boots, hoodie, gloves, hat, out the door. The city is just barely waking up. The sun creeping between the edges of the east facing buildings. Their windows turned to Mecca in prayer, things seem silent and calm. I whisper a prayer that is half way between thank you and help me survive this. I crave coffee, but I can't miss the 0 and it is on its way in an instant.

I'm on the bus watching as traffic grows. Like a pulse elevating. The heart of the city beating faster at the dawn of a new day. I'm hoping that mine starts to beat in time with it. Sluggish still. But getting there, moving.

The bus arrives where I need to be. I breathe gather my bag and get off. I feel like a homecoming solider. I walk in, "Table for one?"

"No, I'm the new cook."

"Oh, great!"

I move through the restaurant already feeling the swagger. Chef's coat, chef's pants, the gates of a temple open up before me. I take in the scents and sounds. Noise crashing over me like waves. Dishes, tickets printing, the babble of cooks versus servers, fryer oil roiling under the pressure of potatoes, sizzling meat. The smell that strange mix of delicious and to much time with oil. Three languages: Spanish, English and Kitchen.

This is the burning bush telling me that this is a holy place.

This is Allah telling Mohammed how to pray.

This is Christ come again.

The movement of the kitchen is Dervish. Each moment full of treble and staccato. Everything is in its place and kicking. All those rituals and spiritual gifts that I have developed for years all come back to me. There is knife to meat, and bread. Cracked eggs and fried starch. Small aches and burns, tiny cuts, and sliding across floors. It is all the same, it is all like fire in my heart.

The headace, and stiffness disappear. As I worship. This is where I can work and feel like I'm not wasting away.

The service ends.

A bite to eat. Cigarette. Then a bus ride home.

And now I'm looking forward to doing it all over again tomorrow.

File under Virtue.