She was hanging over the coffee cup so wiped of sleep,
wiped in that way that gives her the eyes like the
eyes on a dollar bill pyramid. She sucked the steam
through her nose. No way that was going in
I was hovering behind the counter, holding that
pot in my good hand for no real reason, her cup
was getting empty and I just starting to let my
stare go when she said,
"Mister Man, you are my dream boat,
you are my dream,
you are putting quarters in my jukebox
and making the sounds you make."
I was stunned. I listened.
"You, sir, I said sir, are the one with
the one that I want."
I looked at my toast and wondered about
marmalade. My two hour snack into the
shift and not really ready for this. You do
the job and just want to get through another
end and some peroxide dream starts this?
Sitting right there, right in front of it,
impossible to miss that shriveled thing
at the end of your right wrist, something
that looks like it belongs in between
Sunday morning legs instead of where
God put it?
"Sure honey. Sure I am."
I am thinking about taking a big break
in the bathroom in the back of the room,
thinking about this place and that place
and the place between my legs
(it's getting semi-, if you know what I mean).
I am thinking about leaving her a big tip.
"Do you come here often," I said just
She said, "Cream? Sugar? Taxi?" Just
I looked at the menu and I did not see
her on it and that was disappointing.
But not surprised.
"Yeah, taxi," I said. "I can get you that."
She pushed the coffee away.
"You goddamned son of a bitch,
you'd fuck a snake if someone would
hold its head for you."
"You need the fare?"
She put a ten on the counter, stood up.
"No, honey. I got all I need."
I put the pot down. "Yeah, I figured.
Must be nice, that."
She laughed, turned towards the door.
"Never count on that, Mister. Man."