There is a fallen man in Starbucks.
Yes, he’s homeless, but I mean he has fallen over in his seat.
He is a homeless guy I have not seen before.
The staff seems to know him.
He has been here the last few mornings.
Always on the verge of a nap.
Lots of head nodding.
Today is the first day he has actually fallen over.
I am not sure he is sleepy.
The first day he was here, I was running late.
I came into Starbucks, got my coffee, cream and sugared and was shocked to find that two of the three nice round tables in the back were available.
Got my computer set up and took a sip of my coffee.
My coffee has BO.
Then I realized it was the guy sitting next to me nodding off.
And boy, did he have a STANK going on.
Luckily, my sense of smell is weak due to a broken hockey nose years ago.
Well, that explains why the seats were available.
The general public tend to shy away from anything that looks or smells bad.
Me? I need stuff to write about.
This blog doesn’t write itself.
So for three days in a row, John, the new homeless guy is zonked out near the cream and sugar kiosk.
He is there before I get there, and he is there when I leave.
Except for day three.
The kind-of manager comes over.
I say kind-of because he always mentions to people that “My manager said.”
I think its a passive aggressive form of being in charge.
So nobody thinks he is the one pulling the strings.
Like a coffee based wizard of Oz.
Ignore the manager behind the curtain.
Judy Garland was a piece of ass back when.
Anyway, he comes over and clears his throat.
John is curled up on the cushion, he head less than a foot from my leg.
Snoring softly, smelling loudly.
Funny name for a homeless Kung fu movie.
Crouching tiger, hidden stank.
Finally, he knocks on the table.
Which is a smart move.
One of the basic rules about the homeless is that you do not touch them.
Same rule as dealing with a rattlesnake.
Don’t touch unless you have that kind of training.
John Starts awake.
“Um, John? My boss said you gotta go, you’re not supposed to be in here.”
“But I got my coffee.”
He says it quietly, like even he doesn’t believe it.
“He said I gotta call the cops if you don’t leave.”
And thats the homeless trump card.
Don’t mess with the cops.
Enough people mess with the cops as it is.
If I were a cop, I would be one of those cops you see in the movies.
The totally power tripping, bad cop.
Probably a good thing I am not.
I know a few cops, good guys.
I hope that doesn’t sound like one of those closet racists.
“Some of my best friends are–”
Fill in the race du jour.