Page 82 - Self Talk

He greeted me with a raised eyebrow as I parked myself at the counter. Scribbled on a chalkboard on the wall behind him, the menu said coffee and Rice Krispy bars. That was it. No cappuccino, no Columbian, no fancy-dandy French roast. Just plain ole cuppa joe.
“Whad'ya have lady?” he bellowed.
“Gotta a bathroom?” I asked, my voice echoing off the tin ceiling.
“The head's back there down the stairs,” he replied, pointing to the back of the room.
“Gimme a cup of coffee, black, I'll be back in a minute.” I grabbed my backpack and headed toward the dark open doorway.