I walk nimbly
through the rain soaked streets
to the café that serves
the best dark roast coffee
I’ve ever put my lips to. 
The café that employs
the waitress
with straight black hair 
and the tattoo of a pink dragon
on her ankle
that I admire
when she walks away.
And I wonder,
albeit briefly, 
if she says
nice things about me
to the other waitresses
behind the gray
swinging doors. 
Like how I visit 
my grandfather 
in the nursing home,
or how I hold the door
open for old ladies
at the mall, 
and how I work 
with kids with autism. 
She brings my coffee
and I stir it into
the color
of her eyes
slurping it down
before she notices.
When she brings 
my eggs 
I sprinkle 
two shakes of pepper
over them 
and watch her pivot
and begin to leave.
I open my mouth
to say something
but I chicken out and 
take a bite instead.

© by Tyler Bigney.
Used with the author’s permission