viva eqypt

Hobos.
New Age hobos.
He, Che Guevara reincarnated, was twenty-two. She, madonna-like, with almond eyes and a shaved head, was fifteen. Probably younger.
Their dog's name was Rave, a thin, silver-white huskie who panted in the east coast heat. Evening light poured into the neighborhood, pushing out the straight edged brightness of the torrid day. The two, dirty, patched, and darkly dressed in khaki and camo, had just arrived by freight train from California. They jumped from the boxcar, climbed over a rusted fence (lifting Rave high over the sharp wire) and lumbered up the street with their packs. They slumped onto the sidewalk, then backed into a recessed doorway of a closed shop. She immediately put out a hand scrawled sign that read, "Tell me something nice."
Ahmed noticed them from his spot behind the counter. He stared for a moment, then turned, heated the water, poured in the dark fragrant ground coffee, and boiled it into a black froth. He crossed the street, deftly negotiating the traffic, and placed the two demitasse cups, complete with little white saucers, in front of the pair of hobos.





strong coffee