beneath his feet. Cool, foaming water running over his toes as it approaches and then recedes, approaches and recedes. His feet sink into the sand. He feels a hand grasp his.
Yes, he wants that.
“Hey, Marco?” Dante says.
Marco’s wide eyes peek over the chicken. “Yeah, Papi?”
“I’ve got some stuff to take care of. Cover for me?” Dante removes his hat. The manager walks over and tells him to put it back on. But Dante tells him he’s about to throw up, and the manager moves out of his way.
Marco stifles a laugh. “Real slick, D,” Marco says once the manager is out of earshot. “What you really got goin’ on?”
Dante punches out. “Meeting someone. Sorry to ditch you like this.”
Marco waves away the apology. “You got me last Friday. Just do me one favor, all right?”
Skeptical, Dante asks what that favor might be.
“When you up in your girl later tonight, tell her to call you ‘Marco.’”
Dante steps off the bus and then jogs through the rain to the coffee shop at the end of the block. He is drenched and short of breath when he steps through the door. His heart is a hummingbird. There’s a long line of customers in various states of soaked. The baristas scurry about behind a display case that contains only a few remaining pastries and expensive bottled drinks. Conversation fills the air, punctuated by bursts of noise from the grinder and steamer.
Dante scans the crowded tables. All the faces blur together. He curses the fact that he hadn’t thought to ask Takei4Life for a picture.
He tries to focus on finding somebody also trying to find somebody.
“Excuse me,” a woman says as she jostles past Dante. Realizing that he’s in the way, Dante threads his way to a small, empty table in the back corner and takes the chair facing the entrance. He checks the time on a wall clock. He’s seventeen minutes early.
Unable to browse the Internet on his antiquated cellular telephone, Dante distracts himself by looking around the cafe. He repositions himself on his chair. He gets the urge to urinate and wonders if he has time. He looks toward the door to the men’s restroom just as someone slides inside.
At the table to his immediate right, two girls talk animatedly about something that requires several OMGs. To his left, a guy wearing gigantic DJ headphones stares at his laptop, the rectangular light of the screen reflecting in the lenses of his vintage eyeglasses. Dante feels a pang of sadness at the thought of his own machines sitting in a box in a dank basement.
As the clock ticks past 7:30, Dante starts to wonder if Takei4Life is going to show.
Maybe he’s at the wrong place.
Maybe he mixed up the date.
Maybe the guy found someone else to meet instead.
Maybe the guy took one look at Dante and left.
Maybe the guy will murder Dante.
Dante scratches the back of his head and checks his phone out of habit.
A tall, middle-aged man with wire-frame glasses walks through the door. He strikes Dante as familiar, but Dante can’t quite place him.
But a moment later it hits him: It is Mr. Walker. Archie’s father.
Dante is just about to put his head down when Mr. Walker catches his eye and offers a small wave. A bemused look settles on his face. He seems unsure whether he’s going to approach Dante, but he eventually starts to make his way over, scanning the room as he does so.
“Hi, Dante.” He offers his hand and they shake. “Funny seeing you here.”
“Hi, Mr. Walker.”
Though the place is crowded, Dante does not invite him to sit.
“So. How are things?”
“Great,” Dante says. He shifts his weight in his seat.
Mr. Walker scratches the back of his head. “Ready for school to start back up?”
“I guess.” Dante leans over and peers around Mr. Walker at a young, sharply dressed Asian guy who just walked through the door. But the guy steps into line without looking around. He was kind of cute, so Dante feels a tinge of disappointment. At the same time, he doesn’t
Yes, he wants that.
“Hey, Marco?” Dante says.
Marco’s wide eyes peek over the chicken. “Yeah, Papi?”
“I’ve got some stuff to take care of. Cover for me?” Dante removes his hat. The manager walks over and tells him to put it back on. But Dante tells him he’s about to throw up, and the manager moves out of his way.
Marco stifles a laugh. “Real slick, D,” Marco says once the manager is out of earshot. “What you really got goin’ on?”
Dante punches out. “Meeting someone. Sorry to ditch you like this.”
Marco waves away the apology. “You got me last Friday. Just do me one favor, all right?”
Skeptical, Dante asks what that favor might be.
“When you up in your girl later tonight, tell her to call you ‘Marco.’”
Dante steps off the bus and then jogs through the rain to the coffee shop at the end of the block. He is drenched and short of breath when he steps through the door. His heart is a hummingbird. There’s a long line of customers in various states of soaked. The baristas scurry about behind a display case that contains only a few remaining pastries and expensive bottled drinks. Conversation fills the air, punctuated by bursts of noise from the grinder and steamer.
Dante scans the crowded tables. All the faces blur together. He curses the fact that he hadn’t thought to ask Takei4Life for a picture.
He tries to focus on finding somebody also trying to find somebody.
“Excuse me,” a woman says as she jostles past Dante. Realizing that he’s in the way, Dante threads his way to a small, empty table in the back corner and takes the chair facing the entrance. He checks the time on a wall clock. He’s seventeen minutes early.
Unable to browse the Internet on his antiquated cellular telephone, Dante distracts himself by looking around the cafe. He repositions himself on his chair. He gets the urge to urinate and wonders if he has time. He looks toward the door to the men’s restroom just as someone slides inside.
At the table to his immediate right, two girls talk animatedly about something that requires several OMGs. To his left, a guy wearing gigantic DJ headphones stares at his laptop, the rectangular light of the screen reflecting in the lenses of his vintage eyeglasses. Dante feels a pang of sadness at the thought of his own machines sitting in a box in a dank basement.
As the clock ticks past 7:30, Dante starts to wonder if Takei4Life is going to show.
Maybe he’s at the wrong place.
Maybe he mixed up the date.
Maybe the guy found someone else to meet instead.
Maybe the guy took one look at Dante and left.
Maybe the guy will murder Dante.
Dante scratches the back of his head and checks his phone out of habit.
A tall, middle-aged man with wire-frame glasses walks through the door. He strikes Dante as familiar, but Dante can’t quite place him.
But a moment later it hits him: It is Mr. Walker. Archie’s father.
Dante is just about to put his head down when Mr. Walker catches his eye and offers a small wave. A bemused look settles on his face. He seems unsure whether he’s going to approach Dante, but he eventually starts to make his way over, scanning the room as he does so.
“Hi, Dante.” He offers his hand and they shake. “Funny seeing you here.”
“Hi, Mr. Walker.”
Though the place is crowded, Dante does not invite him to sit.
“So. How are things?”
“Great,” Dante says. He shifts his weight in his seat.
Mr. Walker scratches the back of his head. “Ready for school to start back up?”
“I guess.” Dante leans over and peers around Mr. Walker at a young, sharply dressed Asian guy who just walked through the door. But the guy steps into line without looking around. He was kind of cute, so Dante feels a tinge of disappointment. At the same time, he doesn’t
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