the art of mooching

the city is always a place of hustle and bustle. the eerie quality of a city, however, is never fully understood until one successfully mooches. to mooch is to slide through the underlayers of social convention. it’s purely a superhero thing to do, of course, for most people don’t have the time, nor inclination, to mooch.

one mooches by paying strict attention to a lack of pace, and by allowing the mind to focus instead on the little things. on the flavour of oxygen, the brush of a single whisper of wind, and the smell of a girl’s watermelon perfume. to linger one’s eyes on a discreet distance wherein nothing is in focus. to order a coke and sip it slowly, paying attention to the feel of every small fizzy bubble as it creeps across your tongue. to mooch is, therefore, a complete lack of respect for importance.

when you hit the mooching zone, you feel it.

you look around and see a weird assortment of creatures who hustle past you, their suits all smooth, their eyes all glitched, and their pace is frenzied. they have conformed, and they show jagged signs of unrest with each step, but they never know it, because they don’t see themselves in the mooching zone.

i like to mooch where no one can see me mooch.

i like to mooch in my bathroom.