she

came through the front door of Sorella's and was moving with short quick steps towards Ellie, the owner, who's new hair after chemotherapy had grown back with thick dark brown poodle curls. Ellie reminds me of the Basque woman from From Whom The Bell Tolls. she is a Hemingway two-by-four of a woman who is so sure of herself she's more sexy than any hot chick in the room. she stares fear in the face and scares it off the stage. her features are large - big lips, big smile, big legs, big bulk. on holidays she dresses up. she's a Gypsy. she's Ma Joad. i don't know much about her except on Sundays when most of the time she lets me take the small, one-person window seat where i can read and shovel in a Romeo omelette. the woman speaking with her today looked like a lesser version of Ellie. she was more tightly wound. the radar eyes i was sure she had even tho i couldn't see them, bore into my skull, straight through Ellie's body. she wore short shorts that hugged a middle-aged ass, too-tan legs, sandals and a brazen show-her-tits blouse. i wonder about women her age. do they stop worrying about no longer being young? do they worry about this as much as older men do? or differently? then i forgot about her. i went back to 'Gone With The Wind' and Scarlett O'hara who at 17 had been through more life than most ancients, a wicked girl with wicked thoughts who had you want to know her for real, to crank up the movie version and see those startling green eyes. i then became aware that someone had stopped at my table. it was her, that weird woman, staring at me with a curious smile. her blood red lipstick lips parted as if in her mind she could read mine. how did i look to her, eyes over glasses, fat book in my lap with the disturbed dry hair? had i been Fellini i would have cast her instantly as a drive-by wench, or madam. someone i could count on to yell at the top of her lungs in a desperate scene in a movie i would never make. she was there barely 7 seconds and then floated away in a swirl of hot afternoon air. she confirmed my New Age theory that we, as souls, are destined to meet all souls belonging to us, if only for a split second, for a glimpse or long term, but meet them we must before we die. they teach us, as we teach them back, the ineffable big book truths about everything we know nothing about.

but i think, there's something to be said for, you know, like, i mean...ah...

was the brain stall i overheard the other night at work. he was fishing around, like a hand in a jammed-to-the-gills purse, for the thought he wanted to get out of his head. as if by using catch phrases as lures he could somehow hook the evasive idea and yank it to the surface. his friend hardly seemed impatient. maybe he too had a line in the water near an algae-softened sneaker. it was hilarious to hear, to even notice. i stumbled away with a pitcher of water trying not to burst. we are so funny, we smarty-pants, when we try to stab the dark with a dull dart.