When the alarm buzzed Rosa awake, she knew she wasn’t going to give the old man extra sugars that day. Every Saturday, he asked for ten packets. She had begun calling him Sugar Pop. Nobody in their right mind would dump ten packets day after day into one small Styrofoam cup of coffee.
Allison was thin, maybe 30 or a little older. She ran all day between the kitchen and the built-in tables where people ate their long johns or crullers and drank their coffee. Allison covered her hair so that you couldn’t see a wisp. Some days, she used cotton bandannas. Other days, she had a silk scarf or a tiger print. When Allison wore her sunglasses indoors, she looked like a telenovela character who had been unlucky in love or cursed with some tragic accident like palsy or maybe headaches, like Rosa’s own mother.
On her first Saturday, when Sugar Pop ordered a bear claw, a coffee, and ten packets of sugar, Rosa said, “Coming up!” Allison’s boyfriend, Bump, who ran the ovens, was just bringing the bear claws out. They were hot and soft, their heaped middles letting out puffs of steam as they gently collapsed on themselves.
“Have a nice day!” Rosa said as she dropped the coins into the tray. Sugar Pop was already out the door.
After her first Saturday, Rosa didn’t think about Sugar Pop again until the next time she was in early. He was waiting on the street when she walked up from the bus stop. She unlocked the door and he followed her in as she flicked on the lights.
“That’ll be two dollars and ten cents,” Rosa said. Again, Sugar Pop counted out two dollars in change and the rest in pennies.
“Shake Hands Like a Man” by Billy Lombardo
“Gun Control” by Laura Adamczyk
“Diáspora” by Heather Michaels
“And When Were We in Delaware?” by Lex Sonne
