Pacing our fretful hours....

The sun is bright, the birds are trilling, I almost feel happy, I'm puzzled by the unfamiliar feelings.
I was sitting by the water fountain near an ancient, gnarled oak when a woman with long black hair, in her forties or fifties, sat nearby.
She smiled.
I smiled back.
I had nothing to lose, for christ sakes.
"You have a nice smile." she said.
I shook a cigarette from the pack and offered her one.
She took the smoke and I lit her.
She took a long deep drag.
"Are you a student here?" She asked.
"No, I'm an outside agitator."
She cocked an eyebrow. "An agitator? That doesn't sound like a good thing to be."
"I'm kidding." I responded.
She leaned forward."You have hazel eyes."
I looked at her.
She wasn't bad looking.
She looked like she might have been roughed up a time or two, but who hadn't, in this environment, our mutual environment?
"My name's Michael." I said.
She smiled, "They call me Loca."
I sighed, it figured, the first women that had interested me in a while, and "they called her Loca."
We chewed the old fat for a while, her story was pretty typical, when you thought about it.
Abusive boyfriend and husband (Aren't they all?), tough times, difficulty finding work, drugs cut with too many bad additives.
"you like coffee, Loca?"
"Sure." she smiled with what might have passed for a winsome smile, and we walked to the Frontier restaurant.
I gazed around the restaurant.
Mainly college students and teachers.
I remembered coming here once with Marcia.
Marcia was no longer among the living, which I thought, was not all that bad a thing.
I took a sip of coffee, it was good.
Loca looked like she was sizing me up for something.
She was probably wondering if I had any money, a job, a car, a home.
"Where do you work, Michael?" She asked, casually.
" I don't work, Loca. I collect unemployment."
I wondered why I was thinking of Marcia today.
Then it occurred to me.
Loca resembled her, and Marcia and I had sat right in this very booth more than a few times.
The last time I'd seen Marcia she was talking about going into rehab.
I had kind of loved Marcia, in a way.
She was really independant.
No one told her what to do.
Now she was dead.
I shuddered and took a long drink of coffee.
I want to tell you about Marcia, I don't know why, I guess because someone should remember her.
She was tall, almost as tall as me.
She had that look, though, that trouble is my middle name kind of look.
I didn't care, I had it too.
(to be continued)