Been a long time: Starbucks 2.0

Hello strangers. I hope you are well. End times are nigh, they tell me. Maybe I mean "end times are night," a cryptic message forgetting its final consonant. Rubbish, you might say.

Read on. I miss you. I'm telling you why.

I've had many "interesting" experiences over the past weeks. I won't share them with you right now, but I will tell you about Kenny.

Tonight I sat in Starbucks for a few hours. Mostly Google stalking. I mean, writing. I went to the one on 71st and Amsterdam or Columbus or Broadway - who can tell at that intersection? - and I think there's only one at this particular meeting of streets so you should know which I'm talking about. It's by McDonalds. That might help some of you out there.

Lucky me, there was exactly one seat open so I snagged it, greedily, shoving my Pike Place Market brew onto the table. I sat down behind it and opened my computer. I realized that my table was directly in the way of the bathroom line. This is fine, I thought, and got down to stalking. Writing. Whatever.

Time: 7:00 pm

As I type, a polite gentleman of about 50 years sidles up to my table.

"I'm waiting for the bathroom," he says. I didn't ask, but at least I know he isn't reading my manifesto. How embarassing that would be.

"Okay." I turn back to perezhilton.

"You going to the bathroom?" asks Kenny, he seems like a Kenny.

"No. I'm not. But thank you for asking." Did I just say something about the bathroom?

"You're really pretty." I notice his stitched Obama hat and Princeton basketball shorts, his logger boots. Ambiguously homeless.

"Um, thank you." It is now his turn to go into the bathroom and he stands still. Maybe it's because the women's room is the only available place to take a leak.

"Yeah. I'm gonna go to the bathroom now."

"Okay." Back to wikipedia. Or that essay.

10 seconds pass

"Yeah, I was just riding a bike with one of my buddies," says Kenny, answering the question that burns deep within my soul.

"Really. That's nice." Can I help you?

He looks down at my feet. "Those are really sweet shoes. Do you live here?"

"Thanks. Um, yeah."

"Manhattan?"

"Yeah. That's where I got the shoes."

"You are really pretty. Damn. You are just gorgeous."

What the fuck is this guy talking about. "Thanks, he he." Did I just say/type 'he he'?

"What's your name?" Do I have a choice? I can't run away from Kenny. A huge column and queue of sweaty coffee drinkers stands between my small round table and the door.

"Nicole." Darn, I should have said Maude.

"That's a nice name. I'm Ron." Hand extended, okay I guess I'll shake it instead of ripping it off and throwing it into the frappaccino blender. He would have said Maude was a nice name even though it isn't (no offense, Maude).

"Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too. It's really my pleasure. You're gorgeous. Stay that way, Nicole."

"Okay. I'll try." What?

Flabbergasted by my ridiculous response, he says, "You don't gotta try."

Thanks Kenny. Big smile. He walks off, and turns around, and says goodbye, and turns to the door. AndishegoingtotellmeI'mprettyagain ...

.... and he's gone!

What the fuck? My question is really directed at Starbucks: WTF Starbucks, why you only got one bathroom open?

I'll be back soon.