There's one too many NA kids in here running around drinking double shots of espresso to stay off the needle or the tweak, everyone of them a bit more freakish than the other. Hip Hop and Punk mingle at the pool table while workers drop another Soma or take a smoke break. A smoke break that requires walking around the corner and upstairs to do some packin'. I've got good seat tonight.

A brown tattered couch with broken springs and a coffee table for my feet just happens to be positioned at a ninety-degree angle from the counter. Separated by only two steps, everyone must walk around us after spending their required two dollars. Tonight I'm tuned into real-life cable TV. 75 fucking channels and all of them with nothing on.

I stick a finger in the whip cream floating on my ice mocha and then lean into the corner of the couch, almost facing Jayson, before sucking the chocolate sweetness off. Jayson's eyes follow my maneuver. I know it's driving him crazy -- step number one in how to be a trashy coffeehouse whore and fuck with all those lonely artists. Next would be the double barrel cigarette light. I'd hand one to him like it was nothing even though he hadn't asked for one and I never share cigarettes. The common after sex tactic works better under dim bulbs in a grungy den of caffeine. But, right now, I can't get over how big his eyes are staring at my finger sliding over my lips, out of my mouth.

"Can you do that again?" Jayson asks as I bring the glass up and slowly glide the straw between my barely parted lips.

I lean forward, glancing through my eyelashes at him and wait. A small smile grows between his week-old facial hair, his pale eyes glazed over from last night's session. "What," I ask pretending to be coy, knowing he's eating it up. The game is old, the same one I played in high school. The same one I used in bars, substituting the nearest boys Guinness. Whip cream tastes sweeter than the rye foam, but it all looks the same in the eyes of the helpless victim beside me. The same one I gave up because one day I just realized it was mad boring.

Still, I've seen one too many late night movies and I'm on vacation so I figure it's okay to lose my script and play someone else's part. Jayson knows the game, but that doesn't stop him from playing. He's still trying to figure out my real name.

Ó Kristie Macris 1998