Standing in coffee-stained sneakers once-black, while surrounded by similarly soiled shirts smelling of crushed beans and spilt liquid with splatterim scattered. And every head that bobs to and fro underneath the humming lights are covered with wisps of thread-like hairs escaping into freedom from strangling nets of string held into place.
My hands move busily to and fro from paper cup to sugar dispenser to creamer, a slipping touch that’s more like pulling an invisible rubber band on the metal surface, finally settling themselves on the smooth and glassy mugs of black liquid that are poured from a single waterfall in a forest of coffee cups.
They are watching, with beady eyes and crooked teeth, almost flattening their noses against that invisible glass wall you immoculate yourself into, termed ‘personal space,’ to make quick-stupid judgments if you are concocting their order correctly and precise; not TOO much combination of cream and sugar or artificial sweetener?
My parents messed up my genes when I was born so a grain of sugar could kill me. Wait, could you switch to milk instead? I’m already fat so now I’m trying to be healthy instead. Use the freshest coffee brewed, I HAVE MORE PRIORITY than the next person in line behind me! And be quick about it. I only have ten minutes left to to eat my lunch because the goddamn line-up was so long!
This place is too popular! It’s always so busy here at lunchtime on Saturdays!