Coffee and sugar

of those swearing and cursing fools, each of them clinging to one reason why they are better than the rest; they’re all bloody cows” said Fatts.

“Even you?” asked Joao.

“Me? I’m a wildebeest” said Fatts laughing.

Joao laughed too, though he wasn’t sure why. It was just fun though to laugh with other people like in the way some people felt more comfortable joining a queue with more people even when they were queuing for the same thing. It felt ensuring to ride on another’s wing; to be sure you’re in the right place or to know if and when you are enjoying yourself.

“You have a customer” said Fatts pointing to the door.

It was The Nazi from the bus. He was standing in the doorway looking angry and mean in his eyes, staring at Fatts as he walked from around the counter and behind the restricted doors.

Joao smiled but he was reserved and nervous.

“Coffee,” said The Nazi, “and hurry up, or I’ll punch ya.”

Joao busied his hands and knocked over a horde of cups and pots as he prepared his tools, pressed by the mean fisted urgency of the man in front of him, staring him down like a hungry polar bear over an injured, baby seal.

“If you don’t mind sir, I make my coffee different. It takes just a moment more time. Is that ok?” asked Joao nervously.

“If it’s crap, I’ll punch ya” said The Nazi.

“Ok” said Joao, accepting the terms of his grace without any debate, or choice.

Joao washed his hands thoroughly, removing the spit and sweat and stains from the morning’s ride on the bus. He had a special towel that was only his. Fatts had bought it for him. And he used this towel to dry his hands so that they wouldn’t collect more coffee than they needed, so that the grains that did not belong would not stick to his fingers and make their way in to poison The Nazi’s cup but instead would follow the negating rule of his fingers as they flicked the grains back to where they belonged, in someone else’s coffee.

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