I am the worst sort of cynic

Sitting in cafes and bars

Making snide comments about the screenplays being penned by the MacBook wielding masses surrounding me

While I write nothing but fictions about how I am somehow superior

Because I got my arts education at a library rather than a school

It’s strange , as if were all telephones that one day picked up a call telling us that we were somehow special, that even though there are only maybe ten great people per generation that we could all somehow be one of those people

And we never questioned it

We thought that “they” would be quietly great while “we” where Alexander great, or Rosa parks great

They would be Daniel the great who works as a barista and has a longstanding circle of friends who respect him a great deal

We would hold doors for people like Daniel and we would hold power over them

Until one day we found ourselves sitting humbly in the café where he works staring out at all the people who still have a chance to be great and trying to stay smug and self-satisfied while we convince ourselves that the padded leather armchair in the corner was the highest throne we aspired to.