TWO SHIPS PASSING IN THE NIGHT

These two looked so lonely, I should have introduced them, and then I'd have the pleasure of watching them stroll out the door hand in hand. And then it would be fun to wait and see which one would be the first to seek me out to punch me in the stomach and then while I was writhing on the floor stand over me and curse me for meddling with an unhappiness they were perfectly happy with, damn my eyes. And then they'd spit on me and give me one last kick to the kidneys on their way out. And then another customer, staring into the distance thinking about a deduction they forgot to take, would trip over me and slosh piping hot coffee right into my ear canal, causing me to scream in agony. And then a lady in leather boots and a paisley shawl reading a Patricia Cornwell novel would shout "Shut UP!" and zing her spoon at me, striking me above the eye, opening a cut which would send a trickle of hot blood into my eye, temporarily blinding me. And I would stagger out of the coffee shop, deaf and blind, right into the path of an oncoming Oscar Meyer Weinermobile, and my friends, when reading my obituary, would chuckle in spite of themselves.