I ordered a black coffee.

It was a new local with so much potential.

The chicken lady was responsive. She’d regret it, I tell ya.

Her husband would regret it too.

They sicken of me quick smart. I got a good few hours of reception out of them then the door closed.

How much is the coffee I asked? I was inside. The air con was cooling things down.

Two Chinese customers joined in the debate.

‘Ice coffee?’ the more vocal one asked. The other one remained a passive spectator.

No, black coffee.

We bantered back and forth.

Give me a fucking coffee and let the world keep on spinning.

The worker eventually said it was $1.60.

I’ll have one of them.

Then handshakes all around. I was definitely in retard mode.

I pulled off my shirt and revealed my tight fitting undershirt that said RETARD.

The drink is placed on my table outside.

How much?  I ask.

The two Chinese have come outside and are telling me it’s $1.60.

How much? I’m short of hearing, you see.


The chicken lady says $1.60.

But how much is the coffee, I ask again, bringing her husband into my cruel game called cheap entertainment.

He says it’s $1.60.


He says it’s $1.60.

Now I ask the staff.

He says $1.60.

The two Chinese are now getting vocal.


They have never seen a red-headed devil like me in their lifetime.

Sorry, my English is no good, I tell the chicken lady.

I’m fishing for more responses.

How much again?

This goes on for too long. I better stop it soon before the chicken lady reaches for her meat cleaver.

Then I count out my coins, one at a time.

This drags out.

Then I ask if I can drink my coffee now that it’s paid for.

‘Drink, please drink,’ says the chicken lady.

But I want to pay for the drink, how much again?

‘It’s $1.60, but you have already paid for it.’

I scratch my head.

If that’s the case, then I think I’ll drink my coffee.

Geoffrey is the owner, a total stand up guy. I’ll be back.


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