Wednesday, January 17, 2018

The Stranger

I haven't cooked a meal in almost a year, so mornings I take breakfast downstairs at the Mexican restaurant. If the weather is decent I'll sit outside on the patio, adjacent to Houston Street. I prefer the tables by the iron rail that border the sidewalk. A daily stream of strangers pass, and if I was so inclined I could stick out a hand and grab one.

Instead, one grabbed me. I had just placed my food order with Mary Mary and was half reading the newspaper, half drinking my first cup of coffee, when a street fellow just pulled out the chair across from mine and stood there gawking at me, presumably waiting for permission to sit. I looked at him from over the newspaper and nodded in affirmation. It was too early for company, especially a stranger. But, eh, it was also too early for confrontation.

Mary Mary responded quickly to my raised hand and soon the fellow was sipping from a steaming black coffee. He had the look of a four sugar packet guy and cream spilled here and there on the table. I was relieved he was not that fellow and told him breakfast would be my treat. His indifferent reaction suggested, perhaps, that was a foregone conclusion.

Mary Mary took his order and got it caught up with mine in the kitchen so both orders came out together. She's a pro and I like watching her from behind a newspaper or magazine or book. When she puts the food down on the table she never says, "Here you go." I hate when they say that. Where am I going? I'm not going anywhere. Then a confused "Huh?" follows. One thing leads to another, inevitably. I hate that whole exchange.

My eggs were scrambled soft and his were over hard with extra picante sauce. Some people need proof that their food is cooked dead, so when he took a fork to the eggs it reminded me of a soldier bayoneting a fallen enemy. He got to the refried beans last, spooning them into his mouth while wiping the plate with a flour tortilla.

"I'm not going back."

I shifted in the wrought iron chair, nudging it on the brick tile. Two pigeons pecking nearby startled, but only retreated a foot or so. I was no threat.

"Not going back where?"

"Death. Not going back to death. Fuck!"

"Yeah. I don't blame you. Where are you going then?"

"Life, man. Of course."

"Of course. Yeah. Sorry about that. Good luck then."

After the stranger put the last piece of tortilla in his mouth, Mary Mary cleared the table of plates and silverware, leaving only my coffee cup and teaspoon. She knew I was going nowhere. But there would be no more coffee refills for the stranger, no dawdling. His time was up.









Thursday, January 11, 2018

Heard it on the radio

They taught me in law school: When the facts of the case are on your side, argue the facts. When the law is on your side, argue the law. When neither the facts nor the law is on your side, pound the table.