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Locals
START
As winter rolled around, Maple Street Cafe got busier. The small dingy cafe, insulated by the apartments above, a pawn shop to the left, and a Korean market to the right, was crowded with people trying to escape the frigid weather. The dark brown walls were lined with faded photos taken on disposable cameras years ago.
The bell on the door jingled aggressively, joined by a gust of cold wind. A middle aged man in a brown coat, his nose and ears red from the cold, stomped snow off his boots on the cheap welcome mat as the squeaky door closed behind him. The young man behind the counter walked over to the cash register which resided on scratched glass that protected the assorted remaining pastries.
“Hello! Good morning.”
“Morning,” he grumbled, continuing his stomping.
“How’s your day going so far?”
“It's alright, just stopping in on my little stroll.” He paused and slowly surveyed the shop. “Thought it'd be nice to get a coffee.”
“Well you’ve come to the right place,” said the cashier, grabbing a pen and a short stack of sticky notes.
“I don't think I've seen you working here,” the man said as he stared into the gray eyes of the cashier. “You new?”
“I started around six months ago,” the cashier replied, holding the man’s gaze.
“Ahhh. So you wouldn't remember the deli across the street,” the man reminisced, his voice trailing off as his thumb raised to gesture behind him.
“Oh, Romanos? They had a great meatball sub. Sad to see em' go. The old guy who ran it got tired and closed it a while ago.”
“Well, seven blocks down and to the left on 155th street, his cousin opened a Thai restaurant. Their panang curry is phenomenal.” He smirked, “Might melt your face off though.”
“I was just over there last week gettin my computer fixed at the repair shop next door. It’s a pretty nice area.”
“Yea it is, lots of old buildings, nice architecture. Above the Thai place there’s a smoke shop that’s been there so long Marylin Monroe used to buy cigarettes from them,” He leaned his elbow slowly onto the cool countertop. “Got pictures of her plastered all over the walls.”
“I heard they kicked her out after singing happy birthday to the president.”
“They should’ve. Still used her to get people in the door.” He shook his head and grumbled, “Shady people run that shop I tell you.”
“Well, as they say, business is business. Gotta out compete the other smoke shop down the block.”
“That’s the one that’s got a fire hydrant stickin out of the wall. Pretty ironic for a smoke shop. Seems to be a good tourist attraction though.”
“They say the owner had the city put it there on purpose ‘cause if you walk in a straight line for three miles from the direction its top is pointed, you’ll be standing right on top of an ancient native burial ground.”
“And that's why their house was haunted,” He muttered, almost as if it was just to himself.
“Jim and Georgina?”
“You know them?”
“Heard of them.”
“Apparently a witch showed up when they were building their house and cursed them for the next five centuries,” he whispered, careful not to attract too much attention. “I didn’t even know you could get cursed for that long.”
“It was that old lady that lives on 83rd street in the blue Victorian house,” the young man whispered back, his eyes darting around the shop to see if anyone was listening. “She's been there for ages.”
“The sidewalk outside her house is stained brown cause of all the animal sacrifices she does out there. I'm sure she'd do humans if she could, the old hag.”
“I wouldn't talk about her like that, she might pay you a visit.”
“Ehhh. I don't believe in that kinda garbage.”
“She's scary even if you don’t think her witchcraft is real. Chased the butcher that runs the shop on the corner of 87th street with a knife after he stole the lamb she killed. Ran after him for a whole five blocks.” He paused and tapped his pen on the pad of sticky notes in front of him. “Anyway. What can I get for ya?”
“What?”
“You want a coffee?”
“You,” he fumbled for words. “You're just gunna end it there?!” His voice quickly rising to anger. “Take your ball and go home?! I've been around here longer than you've been alive! I could have kept going for hours but you, you end our duel! How dare you! I hope this disgusting place burns to the ground and that witch turns you into a snail!”
The young man merely stood there and watched as the older man slammed his hands on the counter. The outburst making his face more red than it was when he came in. He took a moment to stare with contempt at the young man, turned quickly, then stomped off as if there was still snow on his boots.
The door was nearly ripped off its hinges by his anger as the bell swung and hit the wall. He almost slipped on the icy sidewalk as he stormed off. But none of the patrons or employees even batted an eye. No conversations stopped. No one stopped making coffee. Nobody looked up from their work. Jarold’s tendency towards rage when he didn’t get his way was well known by everyone in the cafe. He had done this before and, no doubt, would do it again. He was, what some would call, a local legend.
END