My Cardboard Balcony

The Blind Barista by Belinda Roddie The blind barista tried to make my drink, but he poured the concoction on the floor and set the empty mug right in the sink, thinking it was the counter. I implored the man to please, just get a coworker to make the mocha for me, but he tried to do it again, the brew black and burned as he handed it to me. I, wide-eyed, watched as he stumbled back to make some tea, dumping the chamomile close his leg and nearly hurting himself. Finally, the manager came out after I begged for someone else to make my coffee. Then, to my surprise, she signed, "It's time you left. He may be blind, but as for me, I'm deaf."

I thought you were attractive the moment I laid eyes on you. You walked in with your jeans torn around your knees, exposing purple, bruised flesh, probably from knocking them around a basketball court during your nights away from your coffee shop job. You wore an open vest open a dirty white T-shirt, your short hair slicked back with some sort of pomade, revealing tan skin even around your scalp.