“Ten minutes late and you won’t get paid for the hour,” he says.

“Okay, I’ll see you at nine then.”

“Don’t be a smartass, Devin. Just get here.”

When it is my turn up at the counter I decide to go ahead and get a treat for Biff and the others who’ll be opening today, Cherry and Brad. I don’t know what they like so I just get three extra coffees and some sugar and powdered cream on the side. I’m trying to shuffle all of this out the door when my phone starts buzzing. I can’t maneuver my hand into my pocket very smoothly while carrying the tray of coffees and holding the door open. I’m a graceless swan, fumbling around and apologizing to the line I’m holding up in front of and behind me. Finally I get the phone out and flip it to my ear, and that’s when it happens. The real-life zombie.

Only I don’t see him as a zombie, just an old drunk dude. He’s walking like he has a limp in both legs, keeping his eyes to the ground so all I can see is the skin along the part in his stringy brown hair, scabbed over like his scalp has rejected hair plugs. He’s moaning kind of low, the way you do when you just wake up and can’t quite face the day even though you know you gotta, and everyone in line just kind of moves out of his way without even needing to be touched. By the time he reaches me I can tell why everyone is backing off: he reeks, like cottage cheese in the underwear of a two-dollar hooker left out in the sun (the underwear, not the hooker, but probably the same odor would result).

“Excuse me,” I say, trying to lean up against the door to allow him access. For a brief second he looks up at me and I can see the nothing in his eyes that I mistake for a drunken stupor. He stops abruptly and then kind of slowly bends toward me, but someone elbows me in the back and I stumble past him, out the door and into the waiting line of people.

“Watch it!” someone yells.

“Devin? Are you there? Devin!” my girlfriend squawks into my ear.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Sorry.” I push away from the coffee-shop entrance, distantly registering a surprised yelp behind me and a gruff response, which I assume signals the start of some sort of altercation between one patron and another, perhaps the old drunk guy.