Cookies!!! No don't.

Goddamn Daylight Savings. I have no idea what time it is, due to the fact that the sun went down hours ago. It feels like 9pm, but looks like rush hour on Broadway and Cedar outside the front window of the Bardo Coffee Shop. Should I be getting ready for bed right now? I am yawning at the prospect and influence of this early darkness, plus I had another nightmare last night. As a kid I used to have this same type of dream,  where various appliances were demon possessed and coming after me (thanks Matthew 8:28-33, for inspiring my 2nd grade class to make a video re-enactment of this scene with paper machet pigs and tormenting me through the rest of my life). This time it was an old boom box playing a distorted version of Kermit the Frog singing “Somewhere over the Rainbow.” I ran towards it before it could get to me and started to destroy it, banging it on the wall, yelling “HA! HA! HA!”, and then a comforting voice pulled me out of it. “Are you having a nightmare?”

Like a child I was frightened, but soon comforted. Why I was particularly afraid of the boom box (too much exposure to pop music), I don’t know, but I didn’t sleep much afterwards anyways.

My eyes are heavy and watering as the car lights outside distract me over the blank white page open on my laptop. Steady cursor blinks, and mocks me.  Flashing red lights reflect aggressively off the windows. Looking around the shop, I realize that I have been caught staring, with several other patrons, to see what the commotion was.

MAN AT COUNTER: She looks really upset.

PATRON: She’s crying! Poor dear; fucking cops.

MAN AT COUNTER: I think I will bring her a cookie. What do you think: chocolate or sugar?

PATRON: That cop looks mean.

MAN AT COUNTER: I will try both!

Off he went right out the front door, cold night air rushing in towards us gawkers. He approached the woman’s window and she selected the chocolate cookie. He walked back in, satisfied. The cop followed, dissatisfied.

“Don’t you ever approach people that I've pulled over, you hear me?”

MAN AT COUNTER: Yes sir; thanks.

Out marched the bulldog of a man, with his navy blue uniform and utility belt. We all looked at the cookie man anxiously for his post-scolding response.

MAN AT COUNTER: Thanks for the reprimand, but you can blow me. You never come when I call for help anyways.

Turns out there was a number of times Bardo’s employees called the police for help with a variety of things; unruly bums, attempted theft, escaped convicts, etc; and they never showed. As he ranted on to the other patrons, I turned up my headphones, no longer interested in the spectacle but in complete agreement with his act of rebellion, and enjoyed my last few sips of coffee.  I sipped my mocha delicately, which I was hoping would never end. The chocolate was carefully mixed and espresso perfectly brewed in my ceramic in-house mug. I considered prolonging my work here, and partaking in one of many delicious looking pastries from City Bakery, but alas, all good mochas must come to an end. As I packed up my things, I noticed the man had stepped off his soap box.

But there were more flashing lights, and he had a cookie in hand.