The Bagel

Pamela Butler

I finished M Train by Patti Smith yesterday.  I didn't want to finish it.  I wanted to keep reading it for the rest of my life. That's just not how things worked out this time.

I've been working at various coffee shops in the afternoons.  Coffee shops provide some good distractions when my focus gets to wandering.  Yesterday I overheard a woman talking about her mother.  Her mother was a Rosie the Riveter.  A small woman, 5 foot 2 and 100 pounds soaking wet, she could slip into small ship spaces for purposes of riveting.  I wish I could spend some time riveting.  I need the proper tools.

At the coffee shop, there are cakes for sale.  Every day I think of buying a large round cake.  I can clear a refrigerator shelf and keep it there.  Any time anyone wants a slice of cake they can come over and eat some.  While I was eyeing the cakes yesterday, a little girl eating a blueberry bagel asked me, "Do you want a cake?"
     "I do, but I'm just going to order some coffee instead."
      "You can get coffee over there," she pointed to the carafes on the counter.
      "I want a different kind of coffee," I told her and then I ordered my second latte. The little girl lost interest in me and walked away.