Two Coffee Shop Vignettes

Posted on May 12, 2006 in Cafes Prose Arcana

The intellect penetrating the plastic film overlaying the liquid crystal display belongs to a woman, a young woman, not more than in her late twenties, a woman who stares too deeply at all the characters flipping across the screen. What did I do? Why do we lie here? She has no clue. She has encoded her brain against unauthorized conversation, pursed her lips so she won’t take a breath, won’t cause a word to flutter from couch to couch. Fingers move like the tideline. Mind not conscious of the white cord splashing behind her shoulder across the cocoa brown couch. No book or briefcase accompanies her, so what is she doing? What did I do? Why do we lie here? The laptop closes with a snap, a red book opens to embrace a few notes, and a gold purse follows her wherever she needs to go like a crack.

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The counter boy hangs next to the coffee grinders and the espresso machine, then clears the space so the owner can follow a line of sight that reeks of Jamaican Blue Mountain. That space is for the customers others than the barrista. His place is in front of the cash drawer, putting money in and then banging it shut.