An Astringent Angel

 Santa Cruz, Pacific Point Cafe, 1:30 pm

        Renewing my license is a tedious but necessary task, especially when its been expired since my birthday in January. Doing my diligent duty as a proactive member of our society. As I click at my newly purchased MacBook, A Santa Cruz eccentric calmly walks to the bench 2 feet away from me and lights a cigarette. I hit my max flow disposal vape to join in the vibe, as to nod that she’s safe next to me. She has some sweet mumblings, and I compliment her unicorn sundress. “Its magical, isn’t it.” I unplug my headphones and decide to add to the ambience with Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, “These Foolish Things.” Now we’re both head nodding, foot tapping--lovely. 

        I continue to my computer diddling, then my sweet new friends turns sour. Starts cursing at me. “You’re not gonna dominate me, stupid nigger.” My newer and better Mexican barista friend overhears this and politely tells her there’s no smoking on the patio. Luckily, my vape sits discreetly in my hand. She obliges slowly and methodically, but not without cursing out the other patrons at the cafe. “What is wrong with you! Who do you think you are,” she screams at a calm breeze before crossing the street towards the beach. 

        Legally, I’m Zachary Patrick Neff. I doubt she has a government name, perhaps just a lost human with no ability to control her identity. I prayed for her.