The Coffee Fanatic

Gray skies huddle around the city of Chicago on a typical Thursday morning. At the local Star Bucks, a young woman, late twenties and brown hair comes in. Her presence was noticeable as she made those who surrounded her laugh and smile along with her. Looking to buy her her third cup of coffee of the day, she waits in line. She goes by Tracey or Trace for short. The line moves slowly, like every other day of the week and eventually reaches the vending machines toward the back. Tracey approaches the cashier with a "Hi! I would like a French Vanilla Cappuccino please." The cashier responds with a "$3.99 ma'am, thank you." Tracey whips out her wallet and pays. Trying to make her way safely through the maze that is the parking lot to her Jeep Grand Cherokee, a Honda Civic comes flying by. The tires glide through the puddle. Water gushes all over Tracey's new Vera Bradley skirt. Hopping gracefully into her car, it's time to start another Thursday at the Mercedes-Benz dealership. Running her fingers through her curly silky brown hair, she mentally prepares for a long day. About a solid three and a half hours into work, the once peppy Tracey gets a little groggy, "Time for another coffee."

Do Janitors Have a Separate Life of Their Own?

A scruffy white beard descends from the face of a 68-year-old man wearing a deep blue janitor's suit with a white name tag lined with red that reads Joe. With a small limp in his left knee, his soft blue eyes, that say otherwise, watche swiftly as high schoolers transition from one class to another. Some kids might say "Hi" or "How are you today?" but little did they know that Joe was a very lucky man. He's not just that average white haired janitor with a hunch in his back or a limp in his leg. Every Thursday, Joe would drive down in his old '69 camero to Atlantic City. He'd visit a few casinos and gamble a little here and there. He'd celebrate with a slight smirk, shoulders back and huddled over a small glass of Coca-Cola on a bar stool. Again, he'd observe the youth of today, recognizing the changes that didn't exist back in his day. He would leave with twice the amount he arrived with and became pretty rich off of a few games. The next morning, it was back to the normal routine of a high school janitor.

The Unfamiliar

The sun's light beams upon a nearby farm. Crops of green sprout up from the fertile ground of brown. Rocks scatter up and down the rows separating the crops. Patches of green grass apear here and there, some are more yellow than green. Against a slim wooden pillar, leans a purple bike. The bike has a deep bend and its purple has slightly rusted away, leaving nothing more than a frame with wheels. The sun shifts throughout the sky, casting different shadows on objects of all kind. Soon, the stars overcome the dark of night, gleaming a slight off white tint on the bike.

Ah, Preschoolers

The bus approaches the red mini van idling on the corner of the street. The little boy waits hand in hand with his mother. The boy, along with five other four-year-olds, load the bus filled with butterflies and jitters as they wave their parents good-bye. They are ready to start a new chapter of adventures in their life; school. The little boy’s mother zooms down the street with lefts and rights, stopping and going. She finally reaches home. It’s the tan house with a recently replace chimney on the corner of Cherry Lane and Julia Drive. The mother raises her arm to the visor and clicks the second button from the left. The garage door opens with squeaks and squeals. The mother plops her purse on the kitchen table and tossed her keys in the basket hanging on the light baby blue wall. She walks to her son’s room and noticed a pair of grass stained jeans draped over the end of his bed. Scattered throughout the room were shirts, boxers, and shorts of greens, blues, reds, and yellows; whether that were originally that color or not. Toys of Godzilla, Star Wars, and Power Rangers neatly greet one another as they are lined up on the boy’s desk as he wants them. Walls of dark blue are concealed by a disaster of paper scribbled with various markers and crayons.

Same old, same old

He sits at a cluttered work desk crowded by piles of papers. He patiently awaits for an e-mail from a business partner, wearing a red, long-sleeved, collared, button-down shirt. Crisp creases line the sides of his sleeves. A hard face, with content and forty-eight years of history, and a shaved head, filled with knowledge sits atop a set of broad shoulders. Long fingers with distinguishable knuckles strike each key as they fly across the keyboard. Holding his hand by his prickly facial hairs, watching the clock, knowing he has to attend a paddle match in two hours. Wasting away the time, the air is filled with a concentrated silence.

The Stranger

Fishing pole tucked under his arm, the old man shuffled along the boardwalk toward the shimmering ocean. He was a strange man; he wore a suit, a white button down shirt and a hat; for a fishing trip. Sea gulls squawked over head. To the man’s left, a group of kids mumbled under their breath, “Wow! Look at that old guy!” “What up with the tux?” The man heard them, but paid no attention to them; he just smiled and looked out onto the ocean. One of the kids threw a carton of cheesy fries at the man. He felt it knock off his hat. His smile turned into a cold, hard, emotionless expression. The laugh lines disappeared under the scars. Again he paid no attention to the group of kids. “What ever, let’s blow this joint.” The group soon followed, except for one boy; about the age of 11, shaggy hair and tanned skin. “Sorry ‘bout that sir,” said the boy as he gingerly returned the hat to the man. The old man showed a slight smirk. The man and the boy chatted, but their chattering was interrupted abruptly by a tug on the man’s fishing pole. A fresh catch! Both struggled with reeling in the monstrous trout. In the end, the man hauled the trout over the wooden posts and on that note; he left with a slight nod to the boy.

A Song for the Two Lovely Ladies

Sitting at a high table,
Just finishing up a soda or two,
Was a group of three people;
A father and his two daughters.
That particular night, just so
Happened to be karaoke night
At the Thirsty Moose.

A man with white hair,
A shaved face and a collared shirt,
Came up to the book to choose
A song to sing.
After delicately flipping through
Multiple pages, a song popped out.

The song was called "Puff the Magic Dragon".

Before the man began to sing,
He said, "I'd like to sing this song for
The two lovely ladies over here,"
As he pointed to the girls and started singing:

"Puff the magic dragon, lived by the sea..."