Sitting at a breakfast bar in the afternoon

12 hour shift bartender pops in, plops down for 3 big togo cold coffee drinks, rubs her round pink cheeks – feeling the stressors of previous days, and today’s bleary late morning arousal, not to mention the fragile life we’ve built atop this crust, the building frustrations of being alive in-the-now surrounded by humans’ demands and their own compiled piles of life; shit – into a temporary stasis; though She wants to be found, this one, a flower atop the rough mound, wants a human who perks up upon first glance, plucked from a 6 out of 10 filmed fake story romance; has wits and smiles, prays seriously over those round pink cheeks; She tips generously, so generous with all Her Money, Time, Love – before she pulls the lid from the cold coffee drink, for a long quick one with eyes closed so time can stop for her, for the world; milli milli milli seconds of all alive to cease growing, cycles unspinning, waves suspending while that cold coffee drink spills into her, just before she says goodbye politely, her high school runner’s legs poised for the door before her torso catches up, to another commute in a little used four door something with manual windows breaking, accelerating toward another exhaustive, bouncing around 12 hour shift

Blonde in tight worn lamé cheetah print tights, fresh dried sweat from hot Bikram lingers all over her freshly, now tri-monthly – old divorce, new dating – waxed body like the memory of a teenage-years nightmare; she demands to be seen, eyes cut through wannabe lovers daring for an Oh fuck Goddamn-laden climax and grabs a paper bag from the counter in a quick, deft rigid somewhat Dancer pose; contains a pre-ordered with extra side dressing salad, she always orders ahead; before leaving, she gives a head rattle; her bi-monthly – now that the kids are grown –  hair-do, another blonde variation with waves of volume and out the door, dropping plastic black and gold sunglasses atop a nose that leads her like a tank cannon, not in similar length, but in potential devastation; could be a cavalryman’s lance; and out into the sun-basted world, into an over-sized white shiny 5 door something to another warm soapy jet bath thinking on toenails, watching reality TV details, one big sigh let go

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