081313 #copperhead I think, I'm just realizing this now, as I stare a little too long at the gorgeously indifferent waitress as she sets down coffee—coffee!—in robust white mugs the perfect weight, the perfect shape, I think that's the definition of freedom. Holy shit. I'm free. I'm a free man. My mouth's partly open. I look at her as she walks away; her white apron's so printemporally clean. I look back across the blank, energetic field of this table at my friend.