The woman keeps checking her phone which is plugged into the wall by the seat next to me. She is wearing a flowing dress-like thing that looks like a 1980s couch. She has a tan cowboy hat with blond, stringy hair coming out from under it.
There is a backpack next to the seat where her phone lies. At a table next to me are a flashlight and a laptop, both plugged into the wall and charging. She shifts from that table to the seat with her phone and then outside where she sits with a dirty-looking man.
She doesn’t have a drink.
I am sitting in Starbucks in Melbourne Beach, Florida. It is my 50th birthday today. I woke up with tears in my eyes. I don’t want to be 50.
The woman looks to be 50 to. Her skin is tan, weathered, and worn out. She is barefoot. I assume she is homeless. I have a knack for spotting homeless people in coffee shops.
Usually, they order the smallest drink and load it up with the freebies replacing the coffee or tea with whole milk and stuffing handfuls of sugar packets in their pockets. Pretty clever I guess. Get the calories, be inside for a minute, and charge things if they own things.
She is back. She has come in and out of this place seven times since I started writing this. I hear her mumble to herself as she comes and goes. She is probably crazy. Just like me.
I like her because she is barefoot. I need to be barefoot more this year. My 50th year.
I think people who spend a lot of their lives barefoot are happier than the rest of us. They have a spirit about them.
Cheers to you old crazy lady from an old crazy dude.
Trey