Poor, Poor Africa

I went in search of coffee this morning. I would either be a coffee begging Booty'st Monk or else buy half and half for my own home brew. I called my friend Alan: "Hey, got any coffee?" Hesitation. "Yeah, I got some." Off I go, astride my faithful mount Bikey.
I am like Don Quijote without the rusty armor or Sancho Panza, not fighting giant windmills, rather giant mental cobwebs, that will only come undone with the application of copious cups of hot, tropical broth brewed from a roasted magic bean. As I turn left on Park street, I notice somebody sitting on Patty's porch. It is Judy Booth.
Time gets stretchy, uncountable, as it will in a small town. Everything gets shifted around, the moment is at hand and there is talking to do. Patty apologetically has no coffee.
"Hey, Judy, you are back! How you been?" She's been back for at least a week. She is having a hell of a time recovering from Jetlag. Judy opens a kind of story book and Africa pours out. Now it is all over me and I am drinking in the stories. My cell phone rings. It is Alan. "Where are you?" Oops. "Judy Booth is back from Africa and I ran into her. We are talking." "I have to go to Everett, you want to go?" I hate the freeway. It is the last thing that is free, cloggedway or stressway is more like it. My NO probably sounds desperately harsh and smacks of abandonment. Sorry Alan.
More talk and I get a picture, broadly painted. I still need coffee. I apologize and back on Bikey, pedal off. I am going to the store for half and half. I stop at Kevins'. He's not home. Damn. No coffee here. To the store. Before I go in I check to see if I have any money. Five bucks in my wallet. Survival money. I get the half and half, freshly ground coffee and some day-old donuts. Crap, I can't get the donuts, I am short a buck. Kevin is outside and I hit him up for donut money.
Back on Bikey and to Pattys'. Judy is still there, I ask Patty to make me coffee. More talk. We commiserate the closure of the cafe and wonder what the new place will be like. More Africa talk and the picture becomes clearer. Judy talks of the many difficulties, yet how wonderful it all was, the suffering and inconveniences adding a flavor that though bitter, still did not take anything from her enjoyment.

I read something last night that has some serendipitous link with this morning's conversation. My head is spinning. I need more magic brew.