RoM 07 - #2/9 A Cop of Cafe

It was in the wee wee hour that I turned off the meandering highway toward a rest stop on a dead end. The other taillights faded and disappeared as I glided up into the glow of a neon drawn into a coffee cup. Time stood still under the illumination.

I made my way into the tiny rudy cafe. The dive was dimly lit, and it took focus to make my way to the low counter that glinted like a flattened sparkly bowling ball. The lowbrow concierge was a hybrid of south Asian, north Africa, tragic fashion, and a hand full of  3am drugs. Her eyes darted with an attempt at not blinking, as though shutting her eyes even for a moment, she would loose the reality she sought to keep. The spirit of the nine tailed fox moved with in her and I could feel that if one made the wrong move, it would jump out.

I handed over the Stanley sans twist lid, leaned against the counter to feel steady enough to look around in the dusky light. Turning toward the general dining room, a sea of orange knit caps turned to meet my gaze with a questioning manner. Under the orange were gristly beards and below that camouflage. There was a puffiness to the congregation that belied weapons under every jacket. I was too tired to be stricken, but wondered who thought whom was in trouble. In a corner too far for my comfort, a gaggle of local cops sat under their cone of silence, nursing  their own brand of instant cafĂ© and cake donuts. 

Today I gave up breaking the silence. Or, not speaking  unless I can improve on the silence. 


  1. Diggin' it, diggin' it. Traditional Jayne (or is that non-traditional?) with a touch of convention for... the audience? EGAD!

    I'm inclined to think that "loose the reality" is a typo, but it works soooooo well as such.

  2. 'South Asian, north Africa, tragic fashion, and a hand full of 3am drugs' Awesome. I'm one who loves the touch of convention here . . .is there a story? A road trip perhaps

  3. wow. There's even something in here for the bowling crowd!