Could … ?

by Jeff Glovsky

Will you really stare, my love?  Like you expect I’ll give my seat up?  Do you really think I’m interested in how your feet are faring?

You might contemplate removal of your eyes from off my shoulders; weight oppresses me, and I’m not moving…I’ve not finished eating yet.

My coffee’s not quite cold.

You’re cool, though…got it going on!  Aware at least of how to seem in public, what to be, and wear…Might like you.

…Do you really stare?


by Jeff Glovsky

Trying to sit and have breakfast in peace.  Construction slobs scream, laugh and howl … The little bell rings constantly.

I order a plain, light-toasted bagel.  It’s instantly slid across my booth – apparently a mistake for someone.  Or else it’s been prepared in advance of the loud and shrieking onslaught here.

A waitress coughs and blows her nose … stares wildly in my direction.  “Atkins diet to crullers!” a voice cuts through.

The waitress serves a sickly grin.


by Jeff Glovsky

As I was sitting and having breakfast (trying), I’m privy to this overloud conversation:

“And it was just that hair, completely … unkissable!  The way she carried herself, and that nose!  I mean, the woman is just plug ugly … And I don’t know why, but I thought when I saw her, ‘This reminds me of Michelle.’”

The speaker’s companion, no prize herself, laughs excitedly.  She shivers a little (What might be next?!) as her eyes grow wide … She knows Michelle!

The guy continues, “I don’t know why I had that thought…”

I do!”

“Oh, please!  It was an ugly thought!”

A waitress comes over to my table … smiles, “My friend!” with a plate of eggs, and sets it down before me.

The laughter of the monsters dies.  “See, he gets service!” the female murmurs.

“Right.”  Something unintelligible…

Then cackling conspiratorially.

The man finally stands up to leave.  The woman fails to get a clue … sits reclining in her breakfast booth, a half-drunk Coke before her.  Got both dirty feet up on the seat, stares doe-eyed at the guy putting his jacket on.  “So when’d you tell them you’d be back?”

“Oh, fuck them!”

“You have to get back to work!” she squeals delightedly, as he’s doing just that.

“That man!” the male companion blusters.  “Let me tell you something, that man…” –apparently some boss or co-worker — “is a festering … abscess … on the ass of civilization!”

“And one ready to burst!” gal pal concurs.

They don’t seem to share the same job station — he, dressed in a shirt and tie, and she, in corduroy slacks and sneakers — and yet, she eggs him on, concurs and tells him, “You should not go back to work!”

“Can you imagine? Oh, my God!”

… Apparently, they can, and do.  And squeal and cackle delightedly.

Eventually, it occurs to the woman the man probably won’t sit down again … so she shoves herself off of the wall of the booth, begins to bring her feet down to the floor; in fact, she’s sliding her shoes back on, when it occurs to the man he’s forgotten his wallet.

“I don’t have my wallet,” says he.

The woman and I fairly burst out laughing … until it occurs to her he’s not joking.  “My wife took it out of my pants this morning!”

The two of them then, they burst out laughing.

The man informs my waitress that he’s running to the bank machine.  His companion settles in again … until my waitress says, “No problem, you can pay tomorrow!”


“Sure!  Don’t worry about it!  We’re not going anywhere.”

The monsters leave, subdued a little.

I pick up their tab.