16 Coffee Shop

Having a good place to sleep makes a big difference. In what, I'm not so sure, but something. I think it's about feeling safe. Even though there were a bunch of us sleeping in that church room, it wasn't like sleeping in the park where you could get jumped or your stuff stolen at any time. That makes you sleep with one eye open, which is not restful.

Today I feel almost perky, sort of Tanya-ish. No, more like Cal. Both of them do the mood swing thing. Bipolar? Manic depressive? I forget. But Cal doesn't mutter or twist his hair until it falls out or try to dance with strangers. Plus, he has that room at his parents house where he can go any time. He invited me over once, but we couldn't get past the big sliding gate with the security camera. He tried to interest me in climbing over the wall, but no way. I'll bet he sleeps like a prince in there. Prince Cal.

Hey, since it's so early and since I am in a relatively jolly frame of mind, I think I'll cruise Latte Heaven and see if any of the handout people are working. Very quiet at this time of morning. No cars. Dew on the grass. I hear some chirping, no doubt the little brown birds up at the crack of dawn to start working.

Oh, look. The redhaired woman is there. My lucky day. Guess I'll wave at her. And there's the skinny guy too. I feel a feast coming.

"Hi, Betty." Redhair unlocks the glass door. "Come on in." I leave my cart outside on the sidewalk, unconcerned about thievery, or at least somewhat unconcerned. Safety is relative anyway.

Skinny guy and Redhair are bustling around getting the place ready to open. I settle at my favorite table, spread my fine patchwork skirt with my hands, and tuck my hiking boots under. The boots kind of wreck my fashion statement, so I'm glad that the skirt is long. Well, it's long on me. In fact, it's so long that sometimes I get tangled in it and trip, which pisses me off. The skirt came from the hippies, at least that's what everyone says. This pisses me off because it didn't. Or maybe it did. Okay, I don't know why this pisses me off.

Skinny guy brings over a tray of yesterday's pastries. They save these for us, so I feel entitled. I choose a croissant and a bran muffin.

"Butter?" he asks.

"No thank you, my good man," I say in a snooty voice and flick my napkin into my lap. They both laugh. Even I laugh. Redhair brings me a pretty blue cup of hot something.

"This is the super coffee," she whispers. "It expired yesterday and we get to use it up." I'll bet it's that $6 a cup stuff. Wow, she even put foam in it. Maybe some of that churchiness rubbed off on me and God is dropping goodies my way. The sun gleams on my table, and on the bushes in Perry's Park across the street, and probably everywhere. I pretend I am on vacation, having a morning snack at a quaint cafe. Mais oui!

Hey! When did I learn French? Un cafe, s'il vous plait. Oh, shit. Ou est le chien? What is this!? I don't have a dog, or a cafe! And where's my cart!? I get up too fast and spill my coffee. The table is wobbling almost as much as I am. I see the cart all safe, and try to settle down, sit gently down, not panic.

"Everything okay, Betty?" Redhair mops up my spill and puts a new napkin by my plate. She also puts a hand on my shoulder. I take a few deep breaths, pull back the tears, and poke at the bran muffin to show her I'm fine and she can take her hand off. Now. I know she's being nice but I'm fine ...

The door opens and people in bike riding outfits come in, take off their helmets, and sit too close to me. I quickly wrap up the bran muffin and put it in my pocket. I leave the croissant behind, and head for the door.

It feels good to be back with my cart. I wait while the light changes a few times. Still no cars around. I'm cold now. Skinny guy suddenly appears.

"Here you go, Betty." He hands me my coffee in a to-go cup with the sipping lid. Oh. Being nice. I watch him as he side-hops around the bikes, through the door, and back to his work. Redhair is bending over the coffee machine. Bike outfits knock against each other like balls on a pool table, everything very slow and quiet.