I sat at the bar in Hawk and Pony on Telegraph. I liked sitting at this bar, because I got to watch the staff interact. They were all artist, hipster types with mustaches and rolled up pant legs and tattoos. Gender seemed to disappear. One of the staff members came over to two others who were on their break. The two reading and eating at the other end of the bar, made fun of the person behind the counter, because they used paper clips to keep their sleeves rolled up. The rolled sleeves exposed their farmer’s tan.
While I watched these people interact in this flowy kind of way, where the world outside the coffee shop didn’t seem to matter, and they were their own kind of organism, supporting one another in their attempts to change something, I wrote and drank a pale ale from a local brewery and ate avocado toast. I was writing a kind of love story.
A couple came in and got in line. One had a shaved head, except two dreads that sprouted from the left, back corner of their head. The dreads mimicked a high ponytail pulled to the side. They had tattoos covering their chest and neck and one spider tattoo on their cheekbone which was elegant. Their face was soft and contradicted the wifebeater and jeans and timberland boots they wore under their cargo jacket. Their eyes were golden and looked at their partner with so much love and adoration, I thought they would melt and become one amoeba on the floor and spend the rest of the their time on this Earth as one. Their partner wore a yellow peacoat with leggings and nike running shoes. They wore a pony tail in their hair and a plain white crop top that showed their belly button.
After contemplating the menu, they moved away from the counter without ordering and kissed intensely. The person behind the counter with paper clips in their sleeves, moved away, as though to give them a moment. The couple kissed intensely in front of the coffee station with half and half and soy milk that curdled in the cold brew. Paper Clips checked their phone, trying to ignore the passion on the other side of the espresso machine. The couple kissed for a good amount of time, ignoring everyone around them. For a second I wondered if they were high, because how could they be so consumed in one another that they don’t consider the people watching this private moment. Golden Eyes spread their hands on Nike’s face, holding it, and with their thumb stroked the part of Nike’s cheek that attached her nose to her face. Paper Clips continued to consider their phone, but I could not look away. After kissing, Golden Eyes clasped Nike’s hand to their chest and they started swaying. They were dancing and the straws and the clean spoons and the dirty spoons and all the people on their laptops sitting at the clunky mismatched tables behind them were witnesses to their love.
Simmons' View 