Coffee Shop Jungle.

The clock read 8:35 a.m. A young woman dinged through the front door and marched straight for the counter. Her bleary eyes scanned the menu as she clutched her laptop bag and her purse. She slid her bag haphazardly to the floor. "Small white mocha, add caramel."

Digging into her pocket rather than her purse, the woman pulled out the exact amount of change, in two bills, four quarters, and a myriad of nickels and dimes.

The barista quirked an eyebrow, hesitating before pushing the correct buttons. A pointed look from the young woman made her continue.
"Oh, $3.35 then."

8:36 a.m. Putting one foot in front of the other, the woman moved from the ordering counter to the recieving one. She opened and closed her right-hand fingers and shrugged her shoulder before her head snapped back in the general direction of her laptop case. The woman sighed, dragging her body back to it, picking it up, and bringing it back with her.

8:37 a.m. "Small caramel white mocha." The barista plopped the drink on the counter, dunking a plastic straw inside.

The young woman, carried her drink and her laptop bag, and her purse to a table in the far corner, setting her drink down carefully as her purse and laptop threatened to fall down her arms. Then she picked up her laptop back, set it down on her chair, and pulled out her laptop, set it on the table, and opened it, before turning it on.

8.38 a.m. She siiiipped her drink, and heard the door chime at the same time as her operating system. A young man walked through the door, with a book in one hand and his wallet in the other. Her eyes followed his feet, then her chin, and then her head. The man turned his head and the women's head turned back to her screen like the two chins were attached on a taught string.

Wishing well and not so well

Once I wished you were gone,

So I could write.

And now you are gone

And the floors echo

where your feet once fell,

Slow and groaning

"You got your wish.

You got your wish."

WAHBAM!!

Sara knelt down to find the plastic wrap in the cupboard. Ah! There's the stuff. The poor girl hopped straight up to her feet, and I mean straight-up. She had a sugar high, having devoured handfuls of chocolate almonds. Of course, Sara didn't realize this as she had just seen her new head shot.  Rather than looking completely terrified like the first time, she only looked pained.  Progress.

Speaking of progress, the cupboard watched, appalled to see her carrot top flying toward its door's corner. It lived a very social, but stable life. Every day plates, cups, and bowls moved in and out of it. The cupboard had only known human hands, several of them. It decided it didn't care for human hair.

If the cupboard didn't  like human hair, it would despise Snowflake, a furry beast. Snowflake took a bath as she heard the WHABAM. Not the watery kind, but the licking kind. Her blue eyes traveled from the cupboard to the fridge where Sara took out an ice pack and pressed it to her head. She sat up, on four paws as Sara collapsed into a chair, groaning. Snowflake hopped on her lap and touched her nose to hers making sure it was okay. Dry. Not good.

Defining a Man

Why must a man skip the shower,

and then scratch his butt, and belch?

Why must he smile as he kills the moment,

thrashing  it with his hairy hands?

Why must he want a body and not a heart?

Why must a man want a bruised cheek, a broken nose,

and widened eyes?

When he can have the hold that makes him

whole.

Four Corners

The four of them sat in a lopsided square of chairs. The rest of the chairs were stacked in a corner of the classroom, and the tables were pushed to one side. Sally avoided eye contact, frequently fiddling with a corner of her skirt. John tapped a pencil on his knee, looking at the floor, sighing every once in a while. Rose looked at the door, wishing it wasn't locked. Thomas couldn't stop staring at the gun sitting on the nearest table.

"Should we draw straws?" John began, his words slushing through the thick silence like slick boots in a swamp.

"Do we even have any straws?" Sally spat, narrowing her eyes.

Thomas' eyes finally shifted to the circle. "We could flip a coin. Or play rock, paper, scissors."

Rose bit her lip, not removing her eyes from the exit. "I don't think we should decide this by chance." She blurted out the words as she dragged a foot from the back legs of her chair to the front.

"Then how should we decide?" Thomas glanced at her.

"By who's oldest." Rose glanced between them.

"What? No. Then It'll be me." John said with wide eyes.

"You sure?" Sally asked.

"I'm 38. You?"

Sally huffed. "A woman never reveals her age."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Look, we have to decide tonight. I say we should do it by who has the least to lose."

John cleared his throat. "I have a wife, three kids, a house, and a dog."

"I have a classroom full of children and a very important trip next month." Sally shifted in her chair, crossing one knee over the other and adjusting her skirt.

"I just have my daughter and my credit card debt." Thomas swallowed, running a head through his hair. "We don't even have health insurance." Then Rose realized how worn his overalls looked in the moonlight in the windows.

The three of them glanced at Rose, who had receded farther from the square with each beat. Sally coughed, giving Rose a pointed look. "I have a new job." Rose mumbled, her eyes not rising from the bottom of her sockets.

"Oh, well, we don't have to decide by that." John said.

"Right." Sally replied, chewing her lip.

Thomas just watched Rose, his eyes narrowing. They weren't any closer to deciding, except him. It would be so much easier just to shoot her. She didn't have as much to lose as the rest of them. He could just imagine it.

~~

Picking up the gun, Thomas looked her in the eye. He looked passed the gray in her eyes, to  the chilling fear behind her pupils. Thomas would make her feel better. He would wipe away her dread. She wouldn't even feel it. Just click off the safety, pull the trigger, and hold the gun as the blast kicked him back.

What would they find on her when it was said and done? Would they even hesitate, or would they flee out the door? What would be in her wallet? Did she have any family? A brother, or parents who disowned her?

~~

Thomas stood up and picked up  the gun. It felt cold in his hands.

A Voter Defined

I am neither red nor blue;
I am varying shades of purple.

I am not a forgetful giant;
I am not an ass.

I don't regurgitate;
I choose.

Wants and Needs

You wouldn't want me to run for office.
You wouldn't want me to tint the world's colors.
In fact you wouldn't want me to change my bumper stickers,
because you'd have to buy new ones too.

You wouldn't want to leave behind your manufactured notions,
that you got for free in your junk mail folder.

You wouldn't want to know what factory your thoughts came from,
or how they might not feed the single mother out of work,
or put clothes on her growing kids.

No, you wouldn't want to know why your head is filled
with someone else's gray matter,
or what trashcan you tossed yours in years ago.

In the Know

Oh, I know all about Marty and her ex-boyfriend; I'm one of her friends, y'know.

They were tight, like this. Marty and Rod went everywhere with each other. The two of them were always touching, so much so that Mrs. Ratzlaff said they were an example of magnification...or was it magnetism. I dunno. The only time you saw Marty alone was when she used the restroom, and that was only between lunch and third period. Even then Rod was waiting right next to the door.

Sure, their schedules didn't always match up, but the two of them sure tried. Rod spent a week in the counselor's office trying to get his classes changed, but they told him it was too late. The semester was already halfway done, like doughy cookies. So Rod swore that he would skip that class every time that Marty couldn't skip hers. Their teachers didn't seem to mind; their grades only dropped two letters. After all, the two of them was science at work.

The day after Marty and Rod broke up, half the sophomore class wore black. I mean, geeze, the two of them breaking up was like a natural disaster. It was like a forest fire that destroyed fifty homes. It was like a hurricane that flooded a town, or the earthquake that left a crack down the middle of the football field. Football players on the other team still trip over it every once in a while, and every time Rod sees it happen he flinches a little, like someone punched him in the arm.