Shaping Up

I woke up at 7 am on New Years Day and went
for a walk. After a couple of miles it seemed
like a good time to get coffee. Starbucks was
the only store open, but I would have gone
there anyway. There were several patrons in the
place: a lobster-colored man eating pastry, a
sleeping wino, and a man in the corner wearing
a leather jacket.

This last one kept his eyes glued to me as I
ordered my drink and sat down. I'm not a
particularly threatening or handsome man-- and
anyway, his gaze was neither aggressive nor
sexual. If he were a character in a noir screen-
play, he might be described as "a greasy type"
or "a shifty-eyed fella." I put milk in my coffee
and sat down with my back to the creep.

His eyes, I felt, were on me. The cafe music
played. Tripping jazz piano, a Joni Mitchell
song, Cole Porter sung by a young singer with
an unattractive but persistent voice.


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