visions of mexcellence danced in his head

slowly the coffee shop is changing before our eyes. new paint, new carpet, but slowly, by piecemeal. every day something is different, moved, stricken, ripped off, glued on, etcetera, whatever.

slowly my hair grows over this break. all the time in the world to shave it back to its proper shortness. since there is always time, there is no need to make time. so it continues to inch ever further into chaos, curling, bending, defying gravity, no preconceived plan or overarching design. go ahead m.i.t. logarithm this.

the baristas begin to apologize for the mess, the unfinished work. not enough time, too much to do, too many people wanting their fix of triple shot half caff ristretto non-fat foam sugar free double cup extra hot two ice cubed with room caramel lattes. adjectives competing with paint strokes.

my chin mirrors my head. not going out of the house much, no need to shave every day, great sandpaper weapon for battles against my son, strike to bare belly. not quite a beard but more than a goatee. sprinkled random over my cheeks. the image of a dirty chai.

there is no need for your apologies, my little baristas, not for me. my people are accustom to this. cinder block by cinder block we have built our houses, rebar sticking, twisting, clumped and bending, walls unending pointing towards the heavens. 'next month grande-mama, we shall have enough pesos for another foot.' 'but what of little alfonso's cough he has had it for so long . . . take the money and the mule, travel to the village and buy some medicines. the house can wait for next month.'

for warmth this season, my wife has bought for me skin tight tank tops that i tuck into my jeans, fasten belt buckle. before the other layers are added, my image confronts me. visions of mexcellence danced in his head. the hair like so much rebar atop my head, the dirty pseudo beard, the tank top, the belt. i stick one hand in my pocket, tilt my head back and slightly to the right, gibbering in spanish sounding words with an accent. i am no longer rocky. i am eliseo che preparing his mule for the trip into the village to buy medicines for little alfonso.

today i'll take my espresso to go.