After walking for what felt like miles, I finally found a dilapidated little coffee shop at a neglected intersection on the edge of downtown where I could sit and wait for Malcolm to finish a training session. When I entered, I felt at least three of a possible five pairs of eyes on me, sizing up the intruder attempting to enter their territory. And what strange citizens they all seemed.
All patrons were of retirement age or older, and were mostly men. There were two mustaches, one 10-gallon hat, an abundance of pockmarks and various scars, and a mysterious black suitcase on the floor. As far as my first glace told me, no one was atually drinking any coffee, which was probaly just as well - the proprietor seemed already overwhelmed with the line-up of two.
The shopkeep himself was a character. Owner of half the pockmarks in the place, his face was round and jolly and of an undetermined origin. His accent was undeniably thick, but even when he paused to answer the cell phone screaming at his belt, the language he used lent no clues.
He had to ask me three times about my order of a medium coffee.
"With cream and sugar, please."
"Just sugar?"
"Cream and sugar, please."
"How many cream? How many sugar?"
"One of each, please."
"Small?"
"Medium, please."
Still flustered by the line-up of me and the mustached man that had come before me, theshopkeep spent a confused moment ringing in my order, wondering why there was a pile of change already on the counter. I knew it had been the man's before me because we all three had watched him leave it there as payment. The shopkeep's eyes widened in enlightenment when he remembered too, a moment later.
Nevertheless, I found the panic endearing. And after me, and having dispersed the crowd, he returned to his element of keeping that shop and keeping it well. One customer at a time, he remembered regulars and served the strangers. He had well-wishes for the man who was freshly released from a hospital stay; he had congratulations for the man who earned an extension on his work as a labourer; he made suggestions for a girl who had to feed her picky sister.
When he disappeared into the back to re-stock, the citizens stood sentry for him.
"Eh! Captain Kirk! When a customer comes, call me!"
"Ya!"
*pause*
"Any customers yet?"
"Nope!" came the chorused reply from the Captain and his crew.
Locals who bordered on homelessness came to warm themselves with a small cup of coffee and to whet their whistles on free cups of water that the shopkeep poured with the additional warmth of generosity. They discussed the latest deals on thrift items - where to find the best clothes or the latest shoes - sympathized on having to settle on bad weekly lodgings, and apologizing for not being around due to late rent cheques.
This tiny microcosm continued to buzz until the 8 o'clock hour rolled around and I gathered my things to go. One last look around the place and then I stepped outside into the brisk autumn air. And then, like a mere hour ago, the coffee shop slid back into a non-existence without outsider eyes to believe it.
