The Seattle rain glistened and hammered onto the streets, splashing back up and slapping the faces of thousands of innocent conforming lives shielding themselves from death with their little black umbrellas.
'They better be careful. They might just melt,'� I giggled while doodling in my journal constructed of Sharpie and duct tape.
Each one of these people spent his or her life pushing paper in an office for some major corporation, praying that the stock market did not unexpectedly crash and leave them all robbing liquor stores in Halloween costumes for a living. Everyone only thought that they were safe in their shoebox cubicles infested with family portraits.
I sat inside, staring out the window at the downtown traffic where billions of water molecules clashed with the pavement, dancing like the glowing Bellagio fountains. I noticed a young couple defying the norm. They held hands and stared at each other with hypnotic eyes. Their lips met, and when pressed together, they formed the shape of a heart. To anyone else, this couple would have been an abomination. However I saw beauty in two humble young women, happy to be alive and in each other's arms. I cautiously sipped my soy chai latte but still managed to send the roof of my mouth to flames.
'Tastes like Christmas,'� I thought and continued to daydream about decorating a tree with that special someone. 'I can find someone in ten months.'�
'Get back to work, Anabelle!'� a distant yet obnoxious voice yelled.
'Okaaaaaaaaaaay!'� I yelled back as I reached behind my back to tie my apron, which by the way, still did not stay on even after struggling for fifteen minutes.
'That means NOW!'� Renee screamed. Looking at her, I saw a husky middle aged woman standing at 5'3'�. Her teeth crossed like jumbled pick-up sticks due to a lack of visits to the dental office as a child.
I jogged to the sink to scrub my hands and turned around to gaze at the dead retro aura of the coffee house; lime green walls, tickle-me-pink doors, black and white tiled floors, and chrome tables and bar stools. Stained, blue, and opaque glass lights hung ten feet below the high-rising ceiling.
Twenty minutes passed and I was certain that the ground espresso's aroma had given me a high. I noticed a petite girl walking across the street; her hair a radiant purple and gracing her chin while obstructing her vision. She waltzed into the shop as a cool draft trailed her followed by a slam of the door. She stood, four feet in front of me, staring indecisively at the menu hanging from chains above my head. Those four feet in front soon felt like six feet under as she caught me staring at her hopelessly with my mouth hanging open like a mailbox with no response but an envelope clearly stamped: RETURN TO SENDER, dated back to my birth. I wanted to wrap those chains around my neck and pray that the menu crushed me. A cigarette dangled from her chipped violet fingernails as the smoke laced in and out of her thin soft fingers. She pressed the nicotine between her thick, velvet, pink lips and inhaled, letting the lustful poison curl and dance around her neck.
'I'll have an iced mocha. Double shot'� with extra whipped cream,'� she requested. Her voice was music to my ears. Not having the heart to inform her that we had ran out of whipped cream two hours earlier, I hurried to the back and found trace ingredients to satisfy her wishes. I returned with the frozen beverage and placed it gently in her grip. 'Thanks,'� she smiled and strategically placed a one dollar bill in the tip jar. She glided out the door, letting her hair blind her once again.
'I bet she's Italian. No. German. Or maybe Asian'�'� I thought to myself as I eyed the one dollar bill. I noticed seven squiggles interrupted by a hyphen and the words 'Facha beta.'� 'Definitely Italian,'� I blushed.
The next morning I woke up from a kick in the stomach. The pain throbbed throughout my abdomen, begging my brain to release the endorphins.
'Ugh, is it that time of the month already?'� I groaned. I glanced at the television, where Donald Trump stood, nearly bald, yet people still kissed his feet. 'I hate men. They have it so easy.'�
I reached into my deep jean pocket where I pulled out a wad of cash. I did not even bother to change when I got home at 3 AM. I remembered the night before when the Beautiful Girl left me her phone number, and I began searching through the pile. After five minutes of not seeing those seven digits, I began to worry.
'Crap. Do not tell me that the one chance I have has just been dropped in some gutter for a skuzzy homeless man to find. She totally had a thing for me,'� I panicked. I threw on my shoes and grabbed a two-day-old maple bar donut before dashing out the door and into the polluted world of sex, drugs, and corporate America.
Two blocks down, I spotted a lump of grime on the sidewalk.
'Spare any change?'� asked the man with layers of dirt on his feet. It looked as if he had dipped his fingernails in tar and let them dry.
'No. I should be asking you the same thing,'� I replied.
'Having a rough time?'� he wondered.
'If that's what you want to call it. My one chance at love has just escaped my future'� well'� my pocket at the very least. I can't find it anywhere. That girl left me her phone number. And I lost it! Ah! I am such an idiot!'� I yelled.
'At least you're honest. Call me Hobbs,'� he replied. 'I had to lie my way to a cup full of nickels. I tell everyone I am a Vietnam veteran who came back to an eviction notice and can't get a job because I have been declared clinically insane. I'm really only twenty six and just far too lazy to work. I was always a slacker in school. I got into drugs seven years ago, and it screwed me up completely. BUT that has nothing to do with your little problem. I regret to inform you that I don't have what you are looking for.'�
'That's okay. So how did you end up homeless?'� I asked out of curiosity.
'I spent my life savings on crack. That stuff will kill ya,'� he lectured.
'Oh,'� I said, obviously not surprised.
'I eventually broke the habit. But today, when I tell people the money is for a bus ride home, it's really just for a beer or two,'� he mentioned.
'Well, I'm glad you're honest,'� I said sarcastically while walking towards the coffee shop.
'Nice hair! You look like an albino skunk!'� he screamed.
'Hobbs'� hobble back to NAM, you selfish Laissez-Faire prick,'� I muttered under my breath.
I arrived at the coffee shop, and as soon as I walked in the door, I saw a familiar smile. She sat beneath a carefully knitted mocha-colored beanie and scarf. Renee gave me an I-know-what's-going-on grin and continued into the back room. How could I have been so unlucky and so fortunate at the same time? Karma, baby.
'You never called,'� a delicate voice informed me.
'Excuse me?'� I coughed, trying not to be impolite.
'Let me start over then. Everyone calls me 'Cy,' so you can too. I am going to give you my number again and hope that this time you won't make the same mistake,'� she mentioned while carving her name into a napkin with an orange crayon. She was extremely straight forward, but I loved it.
I stared as she left me curled up with my tongue wrapped around my foot. I never said anything to her, but I was beginning to wonder if that was better than making myself out to be a complete loser.
Once Renee heard the jingling of the bell on the front door, she slid back out into the lobby where I stood, dazed and loving every second of it.
'Young love'�'� she mumbled and began preparing homemade vegetable soup. We were vegan-friendly in those quarters.
I could have gone home and slept for three more hours (my shift didn't start until eleven), but I was far too consumed by this girl that even my attitude towards work had changed. I gladly put on an apron and got straight to chopping celery.




to be continued...

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...