I have discovered a magic coffee shop. It’s about seven miles from my house, so I don’t go there as often as I wished I could. This morning I walked in and immediately noticed there was a bright woman with a medium sized dog. Bright woman had some sort of scrubbed face thing going, it’s a chemical peal or organic fire wash or some other new fangled facial demolition thing that women have been told they need after a certain age.
I stared for a second and got in line for a coffee. A sad man was seated alone and our eyes met and we nodded to one another. I am not a sad man and maybe he spotted the hope that seems to emanate from every pore of my body. I am an eternal optimist, even on bad days, and this was most certainly not a bad day. I nodded again, broke the stare and smiled, turned toward the coffee shops blackboard and pretended to read the varieties of coffee, but I already knew what I wanted.
It’s a slow evolution when you are seeking some sort of peace and truth, even when slowly marching to just order coffee. I made it to the front, ordered a medium drip, added some half and half and sat across from the sad man. His hand laid across the table and I sat my coffee down near it and with my warm free hand I reached out and held his pale hand. He pulled back in an instant, but I held and he quickly gave up.
He looked at me. “What do you want?” I said I wanted nothing, that he looked sad. “No one just looks sad.”
I just stared at him, a big puppy dog, a sad puppy dog stare and he smiled. “OK, but I don’t think I’m sad. Maybe I was just thinking.”
“Were you thinking sad thoughts?” I let go of his hand.
“No. You let go of my hand.”
“I did.”
“Why.”
“I wanted to see if it would make you sad again.” I reached out and held his hand and said nothing, picked up my coffee with my free hand and took a sip. He smiled.
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