Standing in line at the coffee shop is like this:
coffee and a muffin no maybe only half a muffin ew muffins bagel but won't sell me half only large coffee maybe a small make more socks or finish papers floor is dirty hair inexcusable many phone calls emails inexcusable severe introversion forgot to pay rent practically schizoid inexcusable check your email, duh! flossing in shower hate hair make more socks make more socks make more socks I don't like anyone my turn yet coffee clear out voice mail no excuse check your email pale blond and ordinary polish the silver clean the rugs muffin? bagel? coffee coffee coffee get your eyebrows waxed and change light bulb polish silver ordinary coffee and
neck shoulders back elbow fingers on table reads the post sneakers and jeans no hat and hair is dark and drumming on table neck neck neck shoulders shoulders table reads the post I don't like anybody I don't like anybody drumming on table reads the post fingers and elbows reads the post and I don't like anybody
The line moved. I had to decide between the muffin and the nothing, but I could not take my eyes off the back of his neck, the straight male ordinariness of it. I listened to his fingers drumming on the table while I ordered: coffee, small, milk, no sugar. $1.45. The drumming on the table stopped and I had my coffee. I turned.
He folded the newspaper and placed it on the next table, and then he sat back in his chair, looking at me. I looked at him. So I stood there and he sat there and we regarded each other. He had green eyes and brown hair, and he had not shaved. There was something like a smile; he might have blinked. So I closed my eyes.
Then the door opened and it was cold, and I was on the sidewalk and then up the stairs and into the elevator and now I am back here, drumming on the keyboard.
So this is all I have today. See you tomorrow. (I hope I am over this by then). (Thank you). (Oh and have a nice weekend).