P, cookies, the 3 o'clock coffee men.

i don't know many names, but i do know many faces. many. i know the lines in their foreheads, their jackets, & most importantly, the way each and every one of them takes their coffees & what they like to eat. i know their credit cards, or if they will have exact change, or if they prefer to pay later.

there's p. she's the first one i memorized because she was my first customer. as i clumsily looked through the case for the cookie she wanted on that first day, she told me, "oh darling, don't worry, you'll be great at this. we're all nice here." & she was right, though at the time, i had high doubts.

a small guatemalan in a white mug and a chocolate chip cookie. $3.93. every day. she eats only half the cookie, taking the rest in a white napkin. sometimes she'll come back later in the day to finish the cookie & take her free refill. she has that luxury - she is old, retired, i gather. she likes to talk to me at the counter when it's not busy. she tells me that she used to be "practically anorexic" back when she was younger. "I weighed 90 pounds," she tells me. "can you BELIEVE that?" she is fussy about her weight still, even today, and I always tell her she looks just fine, because she does. she is short, old-lady-like, rounded, but not in a heavy way. she has short dark hair & i can tell she worries a lot. she tells me that she lives alone. once, she came in sweating because she'd just been in a car accident - her fault. i gave her coffee on the house that day, even though i'm not supposed to do that. once, she began to tell me about a trip she'd taken to China, but a whole slew of customers came in, & our conversation was abandoned. I still wonder about that trip. I wonder if she's a world traveler. I wonder what's beneath all those years, what wisdom she has to offer. she tells me that i work too much (i do), & it's nice to have a total stranger worry about me. I wonder why she is alone, and I know she doesn't like it. When it's quiet in the cafe, I often want to just sit down and chat with her, because she is lonely and I can tell, she just wants to talk over a cup of coffee with someone, anyone.


& then there are my afternoon coffee men. three of them, all tall, older. a medium guatemalan, a medium dark, and a large dark. room for cream in all three. $2.07 & $2.28 they always pay with exact change.
they aren't the friendliest of guys. the guatemalan guy is probably the most outgoing and friendly of the three - he's the one with the beard and kinder eyes. the others seem distant, clawed at by life in some way or another. they all work together, i gather, probably in the nearby office i imagine is somewhere in the general vicinity of the cafe, though i have yet to discover where. they don't joke with me like many of the regulars do - they are very serious about their coffees, & i know they notice me as much as they notice the color of the door or the other coffee flavors - irrelevant. they dress casually, and they like to stand outside after they pay, smoking cigarettes and talking. coffee & cigarettes & breaks from the day. occasionally, one will order a chicken parm. sandwich - to go - & he'll sit quietly with his coffee, sitting & staring at his thoughts, i gather.