It is Sunday at Danny's Coffee Shop.
Chloe, the multiple felon with the killer shoes, is trying to drag a large inert something in from the sidewalk,
And not having a whole lot of success.
There is a woman standing outside the door of Danny's Coffee Shop,
Wearing a head scarf, a black dress, and a crucifix.
(The crucifix is not the ironic kind favored by the young and stoned.)
"Hola, chica," says Chloe, looking up at the woman,
"Help me get this inside!"
She blows her blonde hair out of her eyes and waits, tapping a foot.
The woman looks down at the something, and turns away, slowly, regally,
Without saying a word,
But her posture says very clearly, "No way, Toots."
Chloe's mouth drops open.
"Well fuck ya and feed ya fish heads then, I'll do it myself!"
She resumes her Sisyphean labors.
Before she knows it, God the waitress has come outside and is dragging Chloe by the ear into the shop.
"Ow ow ow ow ow ow owwwwwwwwwwww!" yelps the serial murderess.
"Do you know who that is? Out there?"
Chloe looks both hard done by and cowed. "No...?"
"That is the blessed Saint Creola. Be nice. She's one of mine."
At 24, it is the first time Chloe, the fugitive from justice, has ever said this,
Even when she has been before judges.
But dude, it's God.
Her ear bright red, Chloe starts back toward the door, but on her way,
She smacks the Succubus's newspaper and gives Savanna the teenage runaway's chair a good kick.
"Off your butts, lazy sluts, come and help me."
Savanna brings the knife that's inside her boot, just in case.
Together, they wrangle the something into a chair, where it sits slumped and still.
The Succubus lowers her dark glasses and gives Chloe a look that asks,
Chloe chirps, "It's Charles Bukowski!" the way a six year old might boast about finding a nickel.
"He sucks," say the Succubus, Savanna, God and Saint Creola in unison.
"And he's dead," adds Denise the waitress.
"And he stinks." So say them all, but he always did.
They prop him up in his chair and leave him.
He does not order anything, or speak, or (thank Goddess) write any poetry;
And yet, after a while, a drove of male customers of a certain age come and sit with him,
"They're like teenybop girls with Justin Bieber," remarks the Succubus,
Looking as if she had just swallowed a lemon.
One of the men at Bukowski's table asks for an autograph. He thinks "Buk" is Mickey Mantle.
"Sign it Number 7!" he says hopefully, and guides his hero's hand to a pen, but sadly,
The hand falls off and tumbles onto the floor.
"Janitorial!" calls Savanna. She can be a smart ass.
Just then, the little bell over the door jangles,
And in walk the Queen Of The Vampires and the Dark-Haired Chick.
They are hanging all over each other. It's lovely.
"What's this?" asks the QOTV, staring at the something which is apparently holding a salon in the corner of Danny's.
"It's Charles Bukowski," says Chloe, already sounding bored with her toy.
"Eww," say all the regulars.
The Dark Haired Chick grabs their usual booth, and the QOTV slides in beside her.
She starts to tear at the booth out of habit, then realizes she is not in panther form this morning.
Then she looks sheepish.
"Write me a poem, baby," she asks the Dark-Haired Chick.
Out comes a pen.
Out come some napkins from the holder.
She writes she writes she writes she writes, then stops;
The napkins burst into flame and black smoke rises from them.
"God, you're good," says the QOTV.
The Dark-Haired Chick smiles like a Cheshire cat.
There is a thud from across the room.
Charles Bukowski has fallen over!
"You did him in, babe," says the QOTV.
Never mess with a Scorpio. Especially not *the* Scorpio.
The girls drag the fallen something out back to the dumpster,
And get rid of him along with yesterday's bagels.
"See ya, Chuckie!" says Chloe, and struts back across the parking lot.
She adjusts well to life's vagaries.
bottom photo of Danny's Coffee Shop by Daryl Edelstein!