I just want my coffee and a blueberry muffin. Don’t close shop yet, I’ll give you a good tip. You’re afraid, I can see it in your eyes, you want to leave, and you will leave,
I have to arrive.
You see, I’m the one who opens the other shop in difficult times, like I’ve always done and always will. A job that places me somewhere between significance and insignificance.
My boss will periodically call me as she watches a live feed from the safety of her home.
You take my order but keep one eye out on the streets. You’re scared they will come inside your shop and you’re confused with what anyone believes. I’m not sure which they you refer to. It seems to be everyone, everybody. Your coworker tells you that someone has locked themselves in the bathroom for three hours. You become worried about your ability to leave. Your coworker calls the Downtown Clean and Safe officers, the ones who handle drug addicts and schizophrenics, they won’t respond.
They told me yesterday, they’re afraid and want to leave, and they will leave.
I have to arrive