"The coffee maker is not ready," said one of the old men. Like
the others his form was lumpy with layers of cobbled together
cold weather wear. Outside there was ice on the steps like a
pair of crocodile eyes just off shore and nobody was in a rush
to go out there just yet.
It was a white room with a dozen men, three couches, and a large
screen television flickering with the morning news. On the sink
counter, under locked and labeled cabinets, was a tall stainless
steel tank -- good for brewing thirty cups of coffee at a time.
Frowsy-headed and grim-faced, the newest fellow among them ambled
past the line. This drew some severe expressions. The fellow
laid a hand on the side of the great perculator and yanked it
back. "Hot," he said.
"The green light must flash before we can drink," droned the old
man first in line. He wore a beanie and a ragged beard. "See,
it is not yet flashing the green light."
The new fellow listened with a blank expression for a moment
before he turned and shoved his cup under the spigot.
"No, no, no...," Everyone looked worried and annoyed.
A stream of steaming black filled the styrofoam cup.
"Now you done it," said the old man first in line. He was
trembling. "If you don't wait till the little green light
flashes," he gestured around the room, "you mess it up for
everyone."
The new fellow took a noisy sip and squinted past the steaming
cup at everyone waiting and then to the trembling man. "Look,
I don't even know who you are." He walked to the door and opening
it turned around. "Coffee's ready."
Men holding their empty cups turned toward the front of the line
again, bundled up, taking one thing at a time and waiting out
the crocodile one more day.
