"Cortado"

She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. She never could smell the kind aroma that constantly filled the air around her throughout the work day. But as the end of another grueling shift concluded, she would slowly begin to recognize the grounds of coffee microscopically floating in the air. Her silent partner in staying awake from dawn until dusk. They too were now off the clock and her work for the day was finally over.

He carried a stopwatch. He didn't wear it correctly as he never wore the proper clothing for it. The proper clothing being a vest with an actual place for the watch. Instead the chain dangled between his front and back pockets. He wore dark auburn pants with a fine crease. A partially wrinkled and untucked white dress shirt with no tie. He had black hair just as messy hidden underneath a similarly colored dark auburn wide brimmed fedora.

She saw him the moment he walked into her barista. A look like his stands out in a land of small towns like Iowa. He was obviously what the locals would call city folk. Most easily dismissed him as a misfit but she didn't. She studied him in a moment and saw all the other details that everyone else saw plus one important thing. Hidden partially by his collar was a deflated clock. Similar to the kind from the painting, "The Persistence Of Memory." She would recognize it anywhere. Her shift was over and she was looking for a fun evening. This may be it. She approached him on his right side and asked if he was enjoying his Cortado. He slightly turned his head and said it's his first time to try it. My name is Annai, she told him. He paused as if deciding if he wished to engage her in conversation. He turned back to watching across the street with his steely nearly white blue eyes and said, "My name is Salvador."

"You're lying." she quickly replied with her soft voice. "Salvador Dali is the name of the painter." She was careful to not lose that slight bit of playfulness she seemed to always have in her tone. The man pulled himself from his concentration and for the first time actually tuned into her presence.

"And how do you know that's not my name?"

The now off the clock barista went on to explain that she saw his tattoo and that the chances of his real name being the same as his tattoo of choice seemed slim. He confirmed that no his name was in fact not Salvador but he would not tell her what it really was either. In his own words this was out of courtesy. They talked a while longer but he never took his eyes off the door across the street for too long. Finally a middle aged man stepped out from the ever so important door and the conversation ran dry. Realizing she was now a third wheel she excused herself wishing him a good night. He pulled the brim of his hat to send her off. She walked down the rainy street to her nearby apartment and thought nothing more of the stranger that she interacted with on a Friday night. She went out with her friends and had a good time. The next morning she grabbed the paper and enjoyed a personally made Cortado in the same seat as her guest the night before. She wondered what was so interesting across the street and her mind made up many interesting stories to fill in the gaps. This was one of them.