She walks in feral eyed, suspicious of everyone and waits by the counter; lank black hair gone scraggly and tangled; gray velour jog suit with all the velour worn off. She stands tall and nervous, edgy like a criminal, watching the door. Coffee in hand, she always goes to the sofa by the window and eats Chips Ahoy cookies from a tattered gray bag. Watching.
I try not to look, but she stares at me from across the room. Awkward, inappropriate staring with unblinking eyes. A business man sits in the other sofa and gets out his laptop. Near her. Oblivious to her accusing eyes shouting at him. How could he? Sit there? There in all of the cafe? She pulls her bag of snacks close and hugs it like a doll. Watching. Watching. Her eyes are reading "The Dozens" on all of us. Wanting all of us to just, GO AWAY! I read the paper and settle in. Coffee almost gone I look up, and see her scanning the cafe, trying to make sense of it, trying to piece together a reality that works. Then her eyes puzzle the room like an alien asked to gather information about the beings on this planet. Taking notes. Chewing her hair like a child.
Suddenly she stands up and moves with frightened speed to the restroom in the back. Fast and silent like a ghost. And then she races back to the sofa, takes her coffee cup and stands by the trash can, draining down the last drop. She stands like a dancer with a dancer's sense of movement and with a flourish, slams the cup into the can, like "take that!" Grabs her bag and keys and is out the door. To where? Keys to what?
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