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Personal ReligionPeople are often surprised, even shocked, when I tell them I am religious. I'm not sure if it's my pro-science attitude, or the way I dress. Maybe it's the fact that I swear like a sailor, and often make jokes at religion's expense. Either way, any mention of my religion will often garner screwed-up faces of confusion, and statements of "You? Religious? I never would have thought."
To begin, I suppose I should explain the background of my family. I was born an only child, to a mother raised fundamentalist Christian and a father with no religion at all. I remember, when I was barely able to walk on my own, my mother giving me a book of Bible storiesgreatly simplified, I realize now, to minimize the death and destruction. I read about Daniel and the lion pit, Noah's ark, Queen Esther and her husband. I loved the stories, with their happy endings and bright pictures, but even at that e
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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