After Breakfast Walter walked down past the farmer’s market to do the Times Crossword at Nina’s Cafe, his weekly ritual ever since his son moved out. Bloody Marys, always two, mild. Chair and table next to the window. Donut for dessert. Each week it passed without consequence, two, three hours, until the church crowd emerged in their best digs to overtake the place. Fanciest dressed invaders Walter had ever witnessed.
Greg was working today. “Hello Walter,” he said. “I’ve got bad news, we’re out of mix.”
Just like that, a breach. Kathy had been better equipped for situations like this. Lateral plays drawn up fast, alternate routes assessed and settled upon. Moments, for Walter, were best served as scripted events. Nina’s Cafe was a one-act play, few props with little or no dialogue. Ovationless. Paid with exact change: $8.25. The quarter he coul feel in his pocket, a divot between his wallet and leg.
Reaching into the pocket he pulled the quarter out. Silver as it should be, matching his wedding band. The United States of America minted along the top of its circumference. Under this, Washington’s profile, steely, gaunt and decisive.
The vacuum of the tip jar in front of him, Walter slipped in the coin. Windows framed the yawn of a Sunday morning. Extended behind Walter now, a line. Years spent, he thought, waiting in lines. Zipping his coat he moved outside.
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Sean
N. Asher Istas
Timothy Schuler
