boring cheeseburger
there’s something really quite beautiful about just going for a walk.
not a walk for exercise.
not a walk because your watch told you to.
not a walk because you need to clear your head.
just a walk.
perhaps even through the active part of a city; on a bustlin friday night.
i think we spend so much of our lives in these little self-made ecosystems. our friends. our jobs. our feeds. the people we keep around because we made that decision years ago and never really revisited it. those who now reside in your orbit.
that’s the strange part.
you choose something once and then somehow that choice just keeps living.
a person.
a place.
a routine.
an opinion.
a friendship.
you made the decision at one point. maybe it even made perfect sense then.
but now?
maybe you don’t really want to give it energy anymore.
nothing dramatic happened. nobody betrayed anyone. there’s no big ending.
you just don’t feel it.
but the old choice is still there.
still taking up room.
still in orbit.
walking has a way of interrupting that.
because suddenly there is no orbit.
there is just the next block.
the next light.
the next person.
whatever happens to be in front of you.
i walked all the way down to the water and back because i wanted a cheeseburger.
that was genuinely the reason.
america’s greatest invention.
beef.
cheese.
bread.
a little paper bag getting translucent from the grease.
nothing philosophical about it…
the walk was long.
long enough that if you told me exactly how much time had passed, i probably wouldn’t have believed you.
because when you actually start paying attention, something strange happens to time.
it stops feeling linear.
you are not measuring distance.
you are not thinking about the clock.
you are not counting blocks.
one scene starts.
then another interrupts it.
then something else pulls your eye.
then a voice.
then a car.
then someone laughing.
and somehow an hour disappears without ever really announcing itself.
you look up and you’re somewhere else.
the walk is almost over.
the moment is already gone.
that, more than anything, might be the beauty of it.
the city keeps happening whether or not you are ready.
and if you are actually paying attention, there is almost too much to take in.
the burger shop was maybe the best example.
everyone waiting for their number to be called.
sitting.
standing.
leaning against whatever wall was still free.
tourists.
families.
drunks.
people about to go out.
people who had clearly already been out.
people dressed beautifully.
people in sweatpants.
people with money.
people with none.
every race.
every religion.
every version of america.
all of them, for ten minutes, reduced to the same condition.
waiting for a cheeseburger.
there are levels of wealth in the room.
and somehow none at all.
i overheard these younger guys suddenly realize they knew each other.
or maybe knew the same people. one of those funny little collisions where a few names get exchanged and the distance between strangers collapses almost immediately.
harvard came up.
freshman internships came up.
one of the roommates was working at openai.
another guy was working at some series-whatever startup.
and you could feel the whole invisible architecture of it.
the school.
the network.
the internships.
the roommates.
the companies.
the proximity to whatever future is supposedly being built right now.
all those tiny signals that tell you these people are probably doing very well.
and still.
they were standing under the same fluorescent lights as everyone else.
waiting for their number to be called.
that part was perfect.
you can be important somewhere else.
you can be rich somewhere else.
you can have a title.
you can have access.
you can be at the centre of whatever industry everyone is suddenly obsessed with.
the burger shop does not care.
the guy working the counter does not care.
the fries do not care.
you order.
you wait.
your number gets called.
you get your food.
you leave.
there’s something almost embarrassingly pure about that.
isn’t that, in some strange way, the america everyone likes to imagine exists?
not the house.
not the car.
not the fucking white picket fence.
just the idea that for ten minutes, none of it matters.
you get treated the same.
you get a burger and fries.
you continue your night.
then you step outside.
and the city starts again.
loudly.
cars everywhere.
people rolling past in things that are very obviously meant to be looked at.
pimped-out chevelles.
slammed hogs.
cars dropped so low they practically scrape themselves down the street.
engines being revved for no reason other than to announce themselves.
music rattling windows.
people screaming to be perceived.
to be looked at.
to be noticed.
the whole street is full of people trying, in one way or another, to become the focal point.
and that stuff is there.
you can feel it.
it is part of the atmosphere.
but after a while you start filtering it out.
not because it disappears.
because it is almost too obvious.
the loudest thing is rarely the most interesting thing.
the moments that stayed with me were always quieter.
closer.
an arm’s reach away.
a girl laughing so hard she has fallen over.
fully on the ground.
gone.
the guy she is with is filming her on snapchat.
she tries to get up.
looks at him.
loses it again.
he starts laughing.
she starts laughing harder.
it is so stupid.
so simple.
so perfect.
one of those moments that probably means nothing right now and somehow becomes priceless later.
buried in a camera roll.
maybe shown at a wedding.
maybe never looked at again.
maybe they are not even speaking in five years.
doesn’t matter.
right then, she cannot stand because she is so happy.
four parked cars later.
maybe five.
another couple.
the girl is getting out of a car.
crying.
not graceful crying.
not movie crying.
the ugly kind.
the kind where your body can’t keep up with whatever you are feeling.
he is trying to calm her down.
she is telling him to leave.
he says something.
she tells him again.
leave.
door slams.
he gets back in the car.
starts driving away.
something hits the side of it.
then something else.
you hear it bounce off the metal.
more screaming.
the car keeps going.
i keep walking.
a few steps.
one building.
another.
and from a stairwell, there is another girl.
younger, confused.
mid to late twenties maybe.
asking someone:
do you even love me?
do you want this to be real?
and that was it.
that little stretch of street.
one girl laughing so hard she could not stand.
one girl throwing something at a car.
one girl asking whether she was loved at all.
not separated by years.
not separated by chapters.
not separated by some neat little story arc.
parked cars.
four.
maybe five.
that’s it.
you could practically throw a tennis ball from one life into the next.
and that’s when the city starts to feel almost impossible.
because we like to think life happens in order.
you meet someone.
you fall in love.
something happens.
maybe it works.
maybe it doesn’t.
maybe there is heartbreak.
maybe healing.
maybe something new.
we want sequence.
we want timing.
we want cause and effect.
but the city does not give a shit about sequence.
everything is happening at once.
someone is at the beginning.
someone is at the end.
someone is still trying to figure out if there was ever a middle.
and all of it is happening within half a block.
then another block.
another world.
a wine bar.
good selection of naturals.
small plates.
nice lighting.
the kind of place that, earlier in the day, probably feels calm and considered.
later at night it becomes something else.
music too loud for conversation.
cigarettes.
everyone outside.
people sitting in ways that feel intentional.
everyone beautifully uninterested.
the whole thing almost turns into a nightclub, except there is no performer.
or maybe there is.
everyone.
the cigarette becomes a prop.
the jacket becomes a prop.
the car parked out front becomes a prop.
the way someone leans against the wall.
the way someone gets up.
the way someone pretends not to notice who just walked in.
all of it.
performance.
men.
women.
same thing.
everyone peacocking a little bit.
trying to look like they are not trying at all.
and i don’t even mean that as criticism.
there is something kind of beautiful about it.
people experimenting with themselves.
trying on a version.
seeing what sticks.
sometimes pretending is just rehearsal.
sometimes the outfit becomes real because you wore it enough.
but you keep walking.
and suddenly all of that is gone too.
the music fades behind you.
the engines disappear.
another block.
another little pocket of quiet.
and then something else.
that’s the thing.
everything disappears so fucking quickly.
the couple.
the wine bar.
the car.
the guy smoking.
the girl crying.
gone.
you pass it once and it is over.
you will probably never see that exact arrangement of people again.
that exact laugh.
that exact argument.
that exact cigarette.
that exact light.
that exact song coming from someone’s speaker.
you are there.
and then you are not.
the walk keeps moving whether you want it to or not.
by friday night, the whole city has this separate architecture built around going out.
lines.
security.
liquor stores buzzing people in.
cars pulling up.
groups trying to figure out where everyone else is.
people moving toward each other.
people moving away.
people trying to have a night.
people trying not to be home.
people trying to be seen.
people trying to disappear for a few hours.
and if you filter that whole layer out, another city appears underneath it.
that is when i saw the mobility scooter gang.
i genuinely do not know what else to call them.
it was a gang.
there was a clear leader.
giant jbl speaker strapped to the back of the scooter.
music absolutely hammering.
everyone else pulled up around him.
laughing.
talking shit.
parked outside a boarded-up storefront like they owned the block.
no destination.
no obvious plan.
no urgency.
just there.
and maybe that is why i liked them.
because so much of the rest of the street was people trying desperately to project something.
wealth.
taste.
coolness.
speed.
importance.
whatever.
and these guys were just fucking hanging out.
speaker on the scooter.
jokes.
night air.
done.
they had built their own version of friday night.
their own little universe.
and then, eventually, that disappeared behind me too.
that’s what this whole thing really was.
a series of tiny worlds appearing and disappearing before i could fully make sense of them.
the burger shop.
the laughing girl.
the crying girl.
the stairwell.
the wine bar.
the chevelles.
the hogs.
the scooter gang.
the water.
the walk back.
all of it gone almost as soon as i saw it.
and somehow, because i was watching, i lost all sense of how long i had been out there.
which is strange.
because we have never been more obsessed with saving time.
that might be the funniest part.
everything is optimized now.
the route.
the food.
the commute.
the playlist.
the answer.
the next thing.
you don’t even need to be bored anymore.
boredom used to just happen to you.
you waited.
you sat somewhere.
you stared out a window.
you got stuck in line.
you had nothing to do.
so your brain wandered.
it noticed things.
it invented things.
it made connections.
now every empty second can be occupied instantly.
phone out.
feed.
song.
podcast.
notification.
message.
video.
something.
anything.
and the strange part is that most of it does not even feel chosen.
that’s what fucks with me.
we think we are deciding what to consume.
but most of the time, we are choosing from a sequence that has already been arranged for us.
the next video.
the next song.
the next opinion.
the next product.
the next outrage.
the next person.
the algorithm decides what enters the room and we decide which chair it gets to sit in.
and after a while, the sequence itself starts replacing thought.
one thing arrives.
then another.
then another.
no gap.
no silence.
no awkward little vacuum where your brain has to actually do something on its own.
and now we are building systems that make that even easier.
which is, obviously, ironic.
because i literally work in that world.
i am not standing outside of it shaking my fist at technology.
i use ai constantly.
i think about it constantly.
i am fascinated by it.
i believe in it.
i make money in it.
i am literally helping shape parts of it.
and still.
i can feel what happens when there is too much assistance.
too much prediction.
too much convenience.
too little friction.
you stop reaching.
you stop searching.
you stop letting your own thought fully form before something else arrives to finish it for you.
the machine is very good at giving you the next thing.
sometimes frighteningly good.
and maybe the real luxury now is not speed.
not access.
not optimization.
attention.
your own attention.
uninterrupted.
unpredicted.
unmonetized.
not selected for you.
not optimized for engagement.
just yours.
maybe boredom was never empty.
maybe that was the misunderstanding.
maybe boredom was space.
space to notice.
space to wander.
space for original thought.
space for something useless to become meaningful.
space to see a girl laughing.
then four cars later, a girl crying.
then one stairwell later, another asking if she is loved.
and actually connect those things.
not because someone told you they were connected.
not because an algorithm packaged them into a story.
because your brain had nowhere else to be.
and suddenly, it was there.
with you.
walking.
that’s the part i keep coming back to.
i left the house for a cheeseburger.
that was the entire objective.
and after all of that, the cheeseburger was still just a cheeseburger.
that might be the best part.
it did not become sacred.
it did not become profound.
it did not reveal some hidden truth about america.
it was beef and cheese and bread.
grease on the paper.
fries getting cold while i watched people.
completely normal.
completely ordinary.
the most ordinary thing in the entire night.
and somehow everything extraordinary happened around it.
the wealth.
the harvard kids.
the startup world.
the girl laughing.
the girl crying.
the girl in the stairwell.
the showboating.
the wine bar.
the scooter gang.
all of it.
and then it was over.
you walk all that way.
you lose an hour.
maybe two.
you stop thinking about time altogether.
and then, suddenly, you are home.
the city is behind you.
the people are gone.
the sounds are gone.
those exact little worlds no longer exist.
all of it finished.
in a blink.
and all you really did was go get a fucking cheeseburger.
you just happened to pay attention on the way.