he probably told the asian girl he was a ﬁlmmaker toimpress her. they never spoke again.
by Kristina May Garrett
Matthew wore glasses and Mardi Gras beads.Every day. A dollar sign,plastic,occasionally.He poured coffee and made espressodrinks, and the dark earthy scent probablyground itself into his gelled-or-unwashed hair,along with the sticky sweet smorgasboard of syrups.Sickening.He probably grew to loathe those syrups. Blackeninghis ﬁngernailswith the grit they drew in.He bit them,supershort,but the cloying viscous sugar always founda way in.Matthew probably remembered the regularsbut pretended he didn't,occasionally. The oneswho orderedcaramelmacchiatosmochaccinosvanillalmondlattes;he would ask them to repeat their order,hoping they would change it at the last secondto something simpler,probably.