Love is in bloom, and at 5 a.m. no less.
I’ve been watching it unfold for months now, like an exotic plant acclimating to a hotter climate.
Charlotte, I’ll call her, is overweight, but so, so pretty, reminding me of a milkmaid who may just drink a little too much milk. She smiles the way we wish the whole world would at that early hour, always happy to see you, but not quite as happy as she is to see, Jerry, I’ll call him.
An aspiring rapper who sits in Starbucks awaiting his paper delivery buried in his phone. pretending not to see Charlotte looking at him, the way she hides her knowledge of the sly looks he gives her.
I miss nothing, and who would want to miss something oh, so sweet.
I’ve seen them later on in the day when she’s on her break, huddled at his little spot looking right out of a Damon Runyon story, a cap pulled over his eyes…his New York Post apron fastened neatly. She’s all aglow, hanging on to every word he utters, as they smoke.
Okay, in our version it’s Starbucks, but what do you want 75 years later.