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NEVER ALONE : PRE-ORDER SPECIAL

           

            It’s him. It’s actually him. I can’t believe he showed up at work tonight. Every night this week, he has been here. Sitting and waiting. Just sitting in that back booth, doing absolutely nothing but making my skin crawl. What does he wait for? Please, don’t tell me he is going to come up here and order a coffee. This is the worst feeling in the world. I cannot believe he is here again. Where did he come from? Did he just drift into town and figure he’d stay put for a while? Is he on his way to another town? I don’t know, but I do know he isn’t from here. I have never seen him before, and I have grown up in Livingston my entire life.

            Gosh, you can almost smell his stink across the entire café. Imagine how bad he stinks if I can smell him over the aroma of freshly brewed coffee in the air. He has, to have, dirt ground into his pores, staining his skin. Oh, the thought of that makes me want to vomit. I cannot imagine going into a public building without showering or at least combing my hair. He could not have possibly combed his hair within the last month. It ’s so snarled looking, greasy in fact.

 

The shine radiating from his head is not from healthy hair. It’s pure grease! The black highlighted with shiny silver strands around the entire head. The area by his temples has more silver than the rest of his hair. That area is so greasy, it almost looks white, and as if he washed, just those two spots and they are still wet.

            Is that black dirt embedded into the creases beside each nostril? No, it can’t possibly be? Who would allow this on their face? It almost looks like scabs, as if he were cut on each side of his nose. Maybe he had some sort of surgery? But, if he had surgery, wouldn’t he have some bruising? I’m going to lean over the counter a little bit more and get a better look. How can I do this without him realizing what I’m about to do?

 

I don’t want to make it obvious. If he thinks I’m looking at him, he might come in earlier and stay longer. For some reason, I get the feeling he is in here because of me. I don’t know why, maybe it’s because he is always looking at me. I know, for a fact, he makes my skin crawl. Oh, does he ever make my skin crawl. I feel his eyes pierce through me, and I just “feel” uneasy.

            Oh my gosh, it is dirt! How long as “that” been there? No way, this man is coming into the café with greasy hair, dirt stuck to his face and stinks to no end. I wonder when the last time he washed his face was. Does he even own a toothbrush? Oh…that “is” dirt. I am in shock. I wonder when he drinks his hot coffee and the steam graces by his face, if he smells the dirt. I mean, when it rains and it’s humid outside, you can smell the earth. It actually looks like his face is so dirty, he has dirt in his eyebrows as well. Just little, dark specs of dirt. Almost like little dots made from a pen. I’m going to have to tell Jose to clean that booth extra good. I have never looked to see if he leaves grime behind once he leaves, but I am going to make a mental note to do so from now on.

            “Large coffee please.” “That will be $4.95, Henry.” “Thanks, Jaz... Jaz, is everything all right? I was standing here for about 5 minutes before you realized I was ordering a coffee. You know that I come in the same time, every night, and order a large coffee before I have to start my shift at work.” He is right. Every night he comes in here around 9 o’clock and gets a large coffee, black. No cream. No sugar. Why wasn’t I looking at the clock, waiting for him? “Yes, Henry, everything is okay. I’m sorry. I was just thinking about the dance at school Friday.” I wonder if he will buy that. I don’t want anyone to know I was looking at the dirt of that man’s face. Speaking of that, I really need to try and find out his name. I’m going to somehow ask him for it. Oh, I know, when he orders his coffee, and when I hand it to him, I will simply say “That will be $4.95 Mr.” and wait for his response.”

 

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