To the guy at the Ethiopian café,

I walk by sometimes, but I don’t walk in. If I saw you, I think I’d ask you to make me a coffee just so you’d spend five excruciating minutes with me.

You made me coffee but it took a bunch of espresso things, I guess it was an Americano. Did you make me that because you thought I’d like it? The whole time, I was thinking about how it was too hot for coffee. The heat on the pavement made the street look sweaty. When I said, “it’s fine,” I wasn’t rushing you. Was it free because you liked me, or free because it was a hassle? Was your Dad upset with you? He was like, strangling that cordless phone, but he smiled at me. Are we star-crossed?