godwithoutassumption

A place for thought.


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Inside


On the other side of the two gray aluminum framed glass doors she stood with one hand on a handle, deciding if she should come inside. She could see us on the inside as we sat and sipped our drinks. She could see plenty of empty chairs sitting next to empty tables; there would be room for her. She started to push the door open and then, in her disappointment she read the word “pull” in pasted black letters along the inside rim of the door. Disgusted she pulled and walked into the room where we all were. She glanced at the man sitting at one of the larger tables, all alone, he smiled, she did not.
“Americano,” she said to the guy behind the counter.
“Tall?” he asked, already punching some buttons on the register.
“Twelve ounce,” she answered. “In a house cup, please.”
“What’s that?” he questioned not knowing what button to push.
“Ceramic mug?” she explained. “Not paper or plastic,” she offered as additional help. He left, talked to a few people and came back with a white ceramic mug in his hand.
“May I have your name?” he asked.
“You may use it,” she responded.
“What was that?” he asked with his fingers paused over the keyboard.
“You may use it. I’m going to need it later so you can’t have it,” she waited to see if he was capable of understanding, without conformation she added, “it’s Sally.”
He typed, while typing the five letters he said, “That will be two dollars and fifteen cents.”
“What is it right now?” she asked. He did not respond but looked puzzled.
“You said it is going to be two dollars and fifteen cents, what is the price right now?” she asked.
“Two fifteen,” he answered without understanding. She walked to a table for two and sat looking out the smoked glass windows at a world that continued to spin.


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Somebody Call The Police!


Their motorcycles were leaning at the front door; close enough to need notice but far enough away not to be a real nuisance. The two of them, in uniform with utility belts and holstered guns gave the intended impression of being comfortably sprawled in two wooden chairs but it was a lie, they were nervous. They watched, using peripheral vision, as I avoided the fly blower at the door and walked away from them and toward the ordering counter.

“Tall Americano.” I stated flatly. My speech was unnecessary the girl behind the counter had already written David on my paper cup. I gave her three dollars and put the change in the tip cup. I took my preferred seat in the corner and scanned the room, looking through the uniforms as if their chairs were empty. I settled my stare a foot to the right of the tallest officer and focused on a parking lot light standard two hundred feet through the spring drizzle, a drizzle that had the parking lot shining black and reflecting every light. The tall officer looked at me, thinking he was returning my stare, but when he realized I wasn’t looking at him he turned away too quickly, embarrassed. I allowed a hint of a smile, like the light standard had done something to please me. I listened to their conversation as they tried to make small talk, pretending they were not bothered by my presence. One kept referring to working out and having been in the Marines the other didn’t take the hint and told a story about his mother and what a truly caring woman she was. I grew tired of their conversion and concentrated more on what I was writing and on sipping my Americano. I’ll check my FaceBook page even though none of my “friends” are awake yet. I’ll finish what’s in my cup and leave the men in blue to their break.