Call Me Tuesday

Steal my cigarettes, I steal your soul. That's just how life works.

I hate coffee. I absolutely hate it. Why the hell did I go to Starbucks, of all places? That’s what I’m thinking, as I sit in the dingy little coffee shop, across the street from the Remy. I hate coffee, and I’m not a huge fan of people either. Those are really the two main aspects of Starbucks. Coffee drinking, and socializing. It’s not really my favourite spot, if you couldn’t already tell. But it’s not overly loud, it smells nice, and they let you smoke there. Which is what I do. I sit, and I smoke. And about ten minutes into my smoking session, I see that they have a little gift-shop-type-thing by the counter. And they just so happen to sell books. So I get up, and I purchase a little, paperback, copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. I then take my seat at a really comfy booth, way in the back, and I begin to read.

I’ve noticed that time tends to pass by rather quickly when you’re reading a good book, and I soon realize that I’ve already spent two hours in this Starbucks, and at least half a pack of cigarettes have been smoked.

“Good book?” I lift my head, and see a guy, about my age, staring at me a few tables away.

“The best.” I tell him. He nods.

“Which story are you on?” He asks. I shrug.

“The one I’m reading.” I say. He laughs.

“And which one is that?” He asks. I raise my eyebrows.

“Who wants to know?” I ask. He stands up, walks over to my booth, and plops himself in the seat right across from me.

“Kyle. My name’s Kyle. What’s yours?” He asks, with a grin that tells me he really doesn’t care what my name is.

“Charlie.” I tell him. He tilts his head to the side.

“That’s not exactly a girl’s name.” He points out. I shrug.

“If you like, you can call me Tuesday.” I tell him. He laughs.

“What kind of nickname is that?” He asks. I cross my arms, suddenly defensive. I shrug.

“It’s just a nickname.” I say. He laughs again.

“Well Tuesday, what are you doing on a Saturday, sitting alone, in a Starbucks, reading Sherlock Holmes?” He asks, propping his head in his hands.

“Well Kyle, what are you doing on a Saturday, sitting alone, in a Starbucks, watching me read Sherlock Holmes?” I ask, copying his position. He throws his hands up, in defeat.

“You caught me. I got stood up.” He says.

“Really?” I ask him. He nods.

“Yeah, really. I was meeting a girl here, and she never showed. She texted me a little bit ago, saying that I’m ‘not really her type.’” He shrugs.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I say. He shrugs again.

“It’s whatever...... Anyway, I guess I’ll leave you to your book. It was good to meet you, Tuesday.” He grins when he says my name. I nod.

“Same to you, Kyle.” He smiles, stands up, drops something on the table, and walks out. I check out what he left on the table, and I literally laugh out loud. On a napkin, he had written “Hey u cute. Call meh.” and then his number. I shake my head, crumple up the napkin, and toss it in the garbage. I then grab my book, and stand up to leave, and that’s when I notice something. Something very important. My pack of cigarettes. They’re gone. That mother fucker stole my pack of ten dollar cigarettes.

“I hope he fucking enjoys them.” I mutter, stomping out of the shop. I’m so mad, I don’t even know what to do with myself. So I just stomp back to the Remy. At least Page’ll be happy. We got a new book.