I ain't no fuckin' bank

Sitting at the front of the coffee shop, S and I are able to see the passers by due to the large sliding windows. While people take to the pavement, we take to the dessert in front of us.

But, our break is interrupted by a dirty and dark-haired stranger.

“Hey, friend. Long time no see," says the man standing next to me. "How are you doing?”

Even though I forget names (I know too many Mikes, Johns, Jays and Jennifers), faces I remember. This man, I have never seen before. And, if I have, it must’ve been when I passed him on the street in a drunken and drugged stupor.

I put down my cup, turn in my chair, and look up at him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know you,” I say in a courteous tone. Then, I turn towards S, and carry on with my conversation. She, on the other hand, continues to look up at him with fear and confusion.

“Hey, friend. Don’t you remember me?” He asks, undeterred, thinking I know him.

Again, I put down my cup, turn in my chair, and look up at him. Is he still here?

“I’m sorry," I repeat. "I. Don’t. Know. You,” I say in an even, clipped tone, not as courteous as before. Then, I turn towards S, and carry on with my conversation, again.

He doesn't move from his spot. After a pause he asks, “So, uh, do you have any money…?”

Ah, so that’s his reason for thinking he’s my long-lost friend. Dude, ya got a mighty big pair of balls to ask me for money in a private establishment. Friend, my ass. Ain’t no friend of mine has ever asked me for money. Oh, bloody hell no. I ain't no fuckin' bank.

Swiftly, I snap my head upwards, and give him the evil eye. As much as I want to say, You do realize that soliciting is against the law? Want me to call the cops on your skanky ass? I don’t. Also, I don’t want him to knock out my teeth, resembling the half-dozen he has in his mouth.

He takes the hint and walks away when I turn my back to him. S watches him walk away with the same expression of fear and confusion.

“So, as I was saying…” I continue, taking a bite out of my brownie.