Chapter IV
“Please.”
“Wish I could have helped you.”
“You asshole. You don’t want to see me recovered.”
“Abuses won’t do you any favor.”
The guy pointed his finger at her. “You just want regular customers right? Who won’t speak anything about your atrocities. But I’m not like them.”
“I request you to either leave or calm down.”
“What if I don’t do anything you say?” He shook the coffee cup at him, jeering him.
“Sad. Then, I will have to call the cop on you.”
“Sure. Do that. I myself was thinking of calling cops on you. First, you addict us with unexplained hallucinatory drugs in the coffee and playing with our lives by your hidden rules of pain calculation.” The guy leaned forward on the screen, to stress his point.
“That’s what you think about us.” The barista retreated back.
“Why wouldn’t I think like that? I have rights.” The guy yelled at him, continuously probing.
“If you feel we have violated your right, you may chose to call the cops.”
“I’ll call for sure.”
“Please. Go ahead.”
“And then…I will sue in town, no, in a state court.”
“Anytime.” The barista stared at him defiantly.
“Please please give me half a shot or a quarter shot of espresso.” He shifted his weight, leaning forward with his urge and then he retreated back. He did that couple of times.
“Not an ounce, sir.” The barista remained steadfast, against his demand.
He threw the mug at the barista, who ducked barely to save himself. One can’t be sure what incited such an anger in him: the answer or the barista. She saw this from very close. She gasped. He yelled, stretching his body over the screen, to get a hold of the barista. He was thrown back on the wooden floor with electric short circuit. Though at first there wasn’t any visible wire but it appeared as soon as the guy stretched himself over the screen into the barista’s territory. The barista must have activated the wire in case of danger. As he regained some sense, he got up, pressed his head as if to relieve some headache.
Then, he went over to the screen again and said, “Fuck you and your espresso.” He punched the order screen, breaking it and bleeding his knuckles. He turned to reach the common table, kicked the table, toppling whatever items had been left there: pamphlets, stickers, coupons, and small replicas of gods/goddesses. She didn’t even look at them. He went over the coffee shop customers one by one and asked them:” Did you get cured of your depression?” “Did you get over her?” “Didn’t she ask you alimony?” “You still look like a shithead.” Best way to fight aggression is with silence. It seemed that they have mastered the technique.
When no one bothered, the guy turned back to the counter, to the barista. He spat on the broken screen, on the barista and all around him. She retreated a little.
“Fuck you. I’m done with you. I leave you with your selected morons.”
But it was a late decision on his part. The light on the glass doors started flashing in myriad colors, partly red, blue, yellow and their combinations. In no time, inside of the coffee shop glowed and was more pronounced wherever the lights fell over the reflective surfaces. A characteristic sound filled the coffee up. He turned. The blue, yellow and red light flashed in front of him, almost blinding him momentarily. Seeing the cops, he ran toward the back doors but a couple of cops walked in from that door as well. He hyperventilated and ran back and forth.
“You prick. You called the cops on me for an espresso. I’ll see you. You don’t know who am I?” He said. Then, he added, pointing a finger at her, “You will regret this. I know the mayor.”
The cop asked him to get down on his knees. He started bending down his knees. As soon as the cop came closer, he released his fist at the cop, knocking the cop. Before he could try this trick again, a cop from behind gave him a good tight kick. He fell forward and splayed on the ground. The cops came over him, grabbed him tightly, handcuffed him, and pulled him up.
“I’ll sue you…” He blabbered as he was taken away, pointing the finger at the barista.
to be continued…