I must have been smiling when I entered the front door of Native Grounds. I don't know how long the smile continued because immediately I entered, I was met by the entire southside gang, sitting at a large table near the door.
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You may remember me mentioning this gang in previous posts, possibly--possibly not, because I don't write of them often. I prefer to avoid this tattered group of young men if that's the correct technical term, a mismatched assortment of everything South Durham society has to offer, and who hang together, I must imagine, because they all work the night shift at the Food Lion.
"Are you alright with this?" I asked Derek as I inclined the bean toward Doob.
Derek shrugged and raised both hands, palms up. "What you gonna do?" he said. "Besides, Curtis says the apocalypse is upon us and it just doesn't seem right to get up in somebody's face about being politically incorrect when it's the end of the world."
I looked at the designated Curtis. "What end-of-world? There's no end of the world at any time soon. That's so Y2K," I said.
"No," said Curtis, not looking up from his red-letter King James, "I'm pretty sure it's the end. It's the vampire cats." All the others nodded in unison.
"Just as long as it's not the brain-eating zombie apocalypse," said Irv.
"Vampire cats!" I said, putting a lot of topspin on it, and why not? Justified it seemed to me. I'm sure you would have done the same had you been in my position. I wasn't having a manic moment if that's what you're thinking. I remember checking in with Princess Amy at the time and she was calm as dammit.
"Want a rip, man?" said Curtis looking directly at me. I was incredulous, is that the word I want? I gave him one of my patented looks. "It's alright," he said, "it's medicinal."
"Medicinal? What medicinal? You have a medical condition?" I said.
"Show him the card," said Chad, and Curtis took a blue card out of his shirt pocket and flashed it my way.
"That's a Durham County library card," I said.
Chad nodded. "Yeah," he said, "that's our condition. Reading makes us anxious."
This somehow got to me. I was nonplussed if that's the word. Had no comeback. I looked back at Doob who was still standing there with his fist extended in my direction. I gave it a bump.
"Troot," said Doob.
"Truth," I said.
I can't explain why, but I knew as I walked to the order-here space that today would not be the day I had hoped when I left home. Where, I wondered, was Napoleon when he was really needed?
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You may remember me mentioning this gang in previous posts, possibly--possibly not, because I don't write of them often. I prefer to avoid this tattered group of young men if that's the correct technical term, a mismatched assortment of everything South Durham society has to offer, and who hang together, I must imagine, because they all work the night shift at the Food Lion.
My theory is that they bonded, the way young men do bond while spending the early morning hours drinking Red Bull--a sport they discovered one morning when Curtis, the born-again Christian, discovered that he could get quite a buzz going drinking something perfectly legal and without a stain on its character with the church.
A few of the more alert of the group looked up from their multi-syllabic caffeinated drinks and grinned at me, thinking no doubt of the last time we met. I was considering the appropriate greeting when a voice behind me said, "What up my ninja?"
It was Doob, a Yoda-sized expatriate of Cleveland, wearing an oversized Browns hoodie that looked like it would fit an NFL tackle. His fist was raised and leaning in my direction waiting for a bump.
A few of the more alert of the group looked up from their multi-syllabic caffeinated drinks and grinned at me, thinking no doubt of the last time we met. I was considering the appropriate greeting when a voice behind me said, "What up my ninja?"
It was Doob, a Yoda-sized expatriate of Cleveland, wearing an oversized Browns hoodie that looked like it would fit an NFL tackle. His fist was raised and leaning in my direction waiting for a bump.
Just before I arrived, Derek, one of the coffee-jockeys, left his post behind the counter and walked out to the sidewalk, the better to straighten tables, and had followed Doob into the cafe.
"Are you alright with this?" I asked Derek as I inclined the bean toward Doob.
Derek shrugged and raised both hands, palms up. "What you gonna do?" he said. "Besides, Curtis says the apocalypse is upon us and it just doesn't seem right to get up in somebody's face about being politically incorrect when it's the end of the world."
I looked at the designated Curtis. "What end-of-world? There's no end of the world at any time soon. That's so Y2K," I said.
"No," said Curtis, not looking up from his red-letter King James, "I'm pretty sure it's the end. It's the vampire cats." All the others nodded in unison.
"Just as long as it's not the brain-eating zombie apocalypse," said Irv.
"Vampire cats!" I said, putting a lot of topspin on it, and why not? Justified it seemed to me. I'm sure you would have done the same had you been in my position. I wasn't having a manic moment if that's what you're thinking. I remember checking in with Princess Amy at the time and she was calm as dammit.
"There are no vampire cats," I said to Curtis. "That's just one of Amy's stories. She got it from a Chris Moore novel."
"Unh, unh," said Chad, "we saw 'em. Last night at the Food Lion."
"What? You saw the vampire cat?"
"Lots of 'em--truckloads," he said.
Chad slid something down the table that looked like a large caramel, macchiato with lots of whipped cream in an oversized mug. Doob took a slurpy hit, held his breath, and passed it to Curtis.
"Unh, unh," said Chad, "we saw 'em. Last night at the Food Lion."
"What? You saw the vampire cat?"
"Lots of 'em--truckloads," he said.
Chad slid something down the table that looked like a large caramel, macchiato with lots of whipped cream in an oversized mug. Doob took a slurpy hit, held his breath, and passed it to Curtis.
"Want a rip, man?" said Curtis looking directly at me. I was incredulous, is that the word I want? I gave him one of my patented looks. "It's alright," he said, "it's medicinal."
"Medicinal? What medicinal? You have a medical condition?" I said.
"Show him the card," said Chad, and Curtis took a blue card out of his shirt pocket and flashed it my way.
"That's a Durham County library card," I said.
Chad nodded. "Yeah," he said, "that's our condition. Reading makes us anxious."
This somehow got to me. I was nonplussed if that's the word. Had no comeback. I looked back at Doob who was still standing there with his fist extended in my direction. I gave it a bump.
"Troot," said Doob.
"Truth," I said.
I can't explain why, but I knew as I walked to the order-here space that today would not be the day I had hoped when I left home. Where, I wondered, was Napoleon when he was really needed?