Easy as One, Two, Three

One
Dolbeer is a small college town in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. In the 1900's it was all gold miners, prostitutes, and storehouse owners living there. Tom Eaton has lived there for two years, working on a degree in Art. Hundreds of miles from his parents, he is free to explore what he will.
He likes to smoke big cigars with fancy labels in cigar shops with big windows. All the passersby don’t really take any extra care or time to look into these windows than they would the windows of a lingerie shop, an elegant restaurant, or a pastry shop. Round and puffy leather chairs and sofas fill in the space around a beveled glass coffee table. The store is well cleaned and cool. Smoke is filtered out of the room through a heavy duty air conditioning unit in the ceiling.
Tom has been standing looking through shelves of cigars as he waits for the attendant to come by.
“I shouldn’t be spending money on this. I can’t afford cigars.” he thinks to himself while he waits. But an urge to appear normal kicks in and he resumes his cigar selection process. Everything under five dollars has some immediate appeal. If it appears fat, robust, and dark it has even more appeal.
“Can I help you find something?” a man in a relaxed tan jacket inquires.
“Well, maybe you can answer a few questions. Are any of these any good?” gesturing to three or four different cigar varieties.
“The Punch Maduro is one of my all time favorites. Spicy and full bodied, it will never let you down!” says the man, whose excitement could hardly be justified by such a small lump of brown leaf.
“Sounds great. I’ll take two!” says Timothy, confidently and with good cheer.
“Would you like some matches and a cigar cutter with that?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The man in the tan jacket hands him the credit card receipt to sign. Tom signs away a whole $11.17. Seeing the amount on the slip gives him an inner cringe. He suddenly is reminded of being hungry earlier, and for a moment regrets buying the cigars.
He doesn’t like spending money. It usually means he will have to ask his mom for money later this month. Even non-generic ketchup would be a splurge outside of his slim budget. He mulls this over on the long uphill bike ride home.1

Two
It's seven am. The air is filled with mist, and the old fashioned light posts are topped with big glow balls. Sandra is in the coffee shop cleaning counters, sure to be ready for the customers at seven thirty. As she swirls her arm around on the far table, she sees a white vase. It is shaped like an oblong Chinese temple, and has some fresh purple flowers on it. "The vase looks tense." she thinks.
She continues to clean for a few moments. It starts to dawn on her that the vase is not tense, but it is her. She is like a hunched shoulder, like a door between sales items and waiting customers, like spiders in the walls.
She walks into the upstairs of the cafe, and doesn't turn on the lights. The light coming in from outside is soft, and only really hints that it will illuminate the entire room later in the day. She settles on a red lounge chair. She stretches her tense muscles, letting them free. She massages her stiff arms, legs, and chest. Her long arms stretch down between her legs. She massages her clit until it finally screams out and lets itself go. She relaxes her body into the shape of the lounge, and takes several deep breathes. In a few minutes the cafe will be open and serving coffee, tea, and pastries. The day has just begun.2

Three
A dreary few weeks in the Dolbeer sunshine go by before he picks up the phone and calls his mother Linda.
“Hello?”
“Hi.” says Tom, without emotion, wanting to get it over with.
“Oh Tommy! I’m so glad you called! How are you?” absolutely delighted to hear from him, and excited to talk.
“Okaaay.” he says, sounding down.
“Is something wrong; you sound sick.”
“No. I’m not sick. How are you doing?”
“I’m good. I’ve been walking the dogs quite a bit, and your dad has been washing the cars and sweeping around the house today. I’ve been playing golf with the ladies at the club and volunteering at the PTA still. You’re little brother Brad is just about to start third grade this year, you know?”
“That’s nice.” he thinks about how boring his parents' lives are, and wishes that they would simply go away.
“Anything new with you?”
“No, not really. I am running a little low on money though this month. Do you think you could help me out?”
“Sure, how much do you need?”
“Oh, about a hundred dollars would be good.”
“Okay, I’ll send out a check tomorrow. Is that all right?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“All right. Bye mom. Thanks again.” Tom says, with a small hint of gratitude.
“You’re welcome. Bye Tommy.” Linda says, in a reluctant motherly tone.
Inspired by this increase in available funds, Tom bikes several miles to a coffee shop to buy a drink. Once he is inside, the windows of the coffee shop hold out the dark of the summer night. Warm lights of deep red, purple, and yellow color the interior. He orders a hot drink- a mexicano. When it arrives it is piled high with foam and sprinkled with cinnamon.
Sitting at the table next to him is a man half talking to himself, half starting up a discussion with Tom.
“I like this place, it’s so friendly! Don’t YOU think so?”
"It's somewhere to go." says Tom, scrambling for a response.
"Maybe I should get out tonight. I wonder." the man says, looking off.
"You should. The bars are always open. Why not find what you're looking for?"
"Then again. I could just go home; I only live a block from here."
"That's convenient." says Tom, having no idea what he means to say by this.
Tom and the man stare away from one another, as a few minutes pass in silence. The boy then glances down at his page, and takes the last sip from his cup. The man gets up.
"Well nice talking with you. Be seeing you again." says Tom.
As the man is walking down the stairs, Tom thinks to himself "What did he want? Was he trying to make friends with me? Oh well, I'll probably never meet up with him again and that's OK with me."
Although he has just arrived, it is starting to get late. A young girl is sweeping in the back part of the coffee shop where Tom is sitting writing in his notebook.
“How are you doing tonight?” asks the young girl as she is smiling.
“Really good. I’ve just been trying to write down some thoughts. Maybe make them into a story.”
“Are you a writer?” she asks with hope in her voice.
“Well, not professionally, but I do write.” he says uncomfortably, caught off guard.
“I would call that a writer.”
The two resume what they were doing. Sweeping and writing down ideas respectively.
Tom thinks to himself “I am not really a writer. This girl is really too positive. She must want something from me. She can’t possibly be speaking genuinely.” He thinks how his girlfriend, Lucia, has become more and more unsettled being with him. He remembers back to a particularly distasteful night with her. This was shortly after a large party where most of her friends were attending. To say goodnight she, without looking at him directly, leaned in to hug him. This took him by surprise, and he recoiled away. This made her give a “harrumph” sound in seeming contempt. She made no more effort than that to give any affection that evening. They said goodnight quietly, and she did not call him over the phone for the entire next week. He didn’t call her either, because he was upset that she wouldn’t call him, because she was upset. This memory bubbles up in his head, and adds a layer of confusion to his concentrated thinking.
The young girl is in the back of the café again.
“I’m going to turn out some of the lights. Is that OK? I’ll leave the other ones on for another 15 minutes or so before we close.”
“That’s fine. Maybe the change will inspire some great ideas!”
“You know, I’ll bet you have some great ideas already. Can I read some of your writing sometime? I write a little now and then myself.”
“Yes, I have a story you can read. Let me bring it to you next time I’m in the coffee shop.”
“That sounds incredible! Thank you for doing that! My name is Sandra, I am here on all days but Tuesday and Wednesday. I look forward to seeing you again!”
“I’m Tom. Great to meet you as well; have a good night.”
The lights go out 15 minutes later, as Tom is getting on his bike with a smile. He then heads home thinking about bringing his story to be read by the girl the next time he is at the coffee shop. 3