Friday, May 17, 2013

He orders his coffee Cubano and is suddenly aware of his accent. With its broad, rural vowels and hard, Norgie consonants it sticks out in this place like an rusty farm tractor on the Plaze de la Constitucion. He has been in Saint Aggie for 3 summers, wears the faded linens and burnt skin of a true Floridano, but when he opens his mouth he still sounds like a tater-eater from Fort St. Anthony.

He hands a pound note to the coffee girl and takes his coffee. He finds a table near the window, with a view of the boulevard, and sits. Removes the lid from the coffee, and takes a sip. Makes a slurping noise, but doesn't care if anyone notices; this is his ritual, and he enjoys it. He sees folded up newspaper on the adjacent table, and he takes it. The front page is all about troop movements and politicians' threats, but he doesn't want to read about the Texians today. He turns to sport section and checks the football scores.