But for what was I guilty? This was the first time I had ever seen him, except right before I walked into the coffee shop and literally gave him the only cash I had on me: three crisp five dollar bills!
1,000 JUDGMENTS BY COLLINS I AKI 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 20
He was accusing me without saying a single word.
I stood outside of the new trendy coffee shop that boasted a hip Beatnik kinda vibe; the jivest sounds on the block and the most beautiful people this side of the capital’s building. Its accomplishment of insulation and autochthonous farce made it worth the extra $1.25 for the latte (fair trade and Diz’s trumpet? Enough said). The morning sun beat on my suit to no avail and settled to merely gloss it. For just that brief moment, as I stood on the sidewalk illuminated, I recalled, with some pride, picking up my new invincible suit from my tailor; a blue pinstripe—thin stripes, not those thick chalky stripes those sweaty fourtysomethingyearolds from Men’s Wearhouse, with their fo…