She is wearing clogs… the full-on kind that cover her heals. She’s wearing “socklets” with them. Gray skinny jeans rolled up/cuffed twice. Soft tank top that is forgiving/flared at the waist. Her hair is buzzed below the ears and the rest is up in a trendy “man bun” .. except she’s not a man. She is loud. Megaphone loud. She works here and I think her shift is over, but she is lingering and visiting with someone she knows at a table. A young woman and man sit at the table where she lingers. Peaceful hipsters. Not edgy tattooed hipsters.. more like hippies. Do-gooder hippies. She tells them about a summer camp that does interventions for wayward youths. I think she works there too. The hippies play in a band. She tells them “that’s tight”…. and then asks if they need a back up dancer and begins shaking herself to the beat of a song that is not playing. She touches his shoulder several times. The hand is familiar and caresses. I’m not positioned well enough to gauge the reaction of his table companion. It’s revealed that the hippie-not-hipster couple is planning for a trip to India, where they will work with orphans. Their face scrunches up when they say the word “orphans”. The clogged-shod megaphone finally leaves, but not before giving her friend a free leftover taco and a muffin from the breakfast shift, and offering nothing to the female hippie-not-hipster. The couple is now left to plan activities they will do with the orphans. You know.. like drawing pictures of Ganesh, collecting feathers, splitting up in groups based on their favorite animal and various other Anglo-lensed ideations. He finishes the taco and starts on the muffin. He doesn’t ask his companion if she wants a bite of either. She gets up to get water, and offers to get him one. He says yes. This happens twice. The second time, she doesn’t ask him, but he stops her and hands his glass. He’s wearing a bright green headband that angers me more than his dry muffin stinginess. If I were a dragon, I would exhale in their direction and be done with this torture. I quickly chide myself for conjuring all this rage and judgement. After all, I’m trying to release darkness and anger… not grow it. So, even if I was a dragon, it would be wrong to burn them to a crisp over these minor offenses. I pause. I’ve had some water now and taken some deep breaths. I see that he will have intestinal problems on the trip, (… because sometimes I see the future…) He will writhe in pain and she will fetch water, as is her lot until she decides it’s not. …. that is her journey… not mine. He will gobble everything offered to him without thought and without sharing. That is his lot, until he decides it’s not. Invoking fire-breathing dragons... well, I suppose that's mine. …. go toward the light… y’all.