Drickner wiped the crumbs off his scraggly beard and cleared his throat. He did it because he was nervous. He was a nervous throat-clearer. He did it to convey to anyone who might be watching him that he was comfortable in his skin and that nothing really got to him. It didn’t matter that this wasn’t true, it just mattered that other people thought it was true.

He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders before he shuffled out of the cramped restaurant booth. He was eating alone again. He didn’t mind. He liked to do that once in a while because it gave him the opportunity to meet new people and practice his social skills. In a big city like Fremton, the chances were infinite.

“Thanks for comin’ in!” his server waved. He threw his hand up in response, an approximation of what he hoped was a casual “yeah I’m pretty confident in the world” gesture. I’ll give ya a wave because I’m a cool dude who knows how to interact with people. Don’t you want to get to know me?

Drickner did not really interact with anyone at the restaurant. At one point a pretty girl came in and he liked the way she sighed and breathed heavily to get out of the cold. She had dressed pretty well. Pretty sharp. If she had chosen the booth right next to his he would for sure have said something, but instead she took a spot at the bar and so Drickner couldn’t introduce himself.

He buttoned up his coat, tightened his scarf, and, steeling himself for the cold, left Morp’s Cafe and Sundries. It was time to march his way over to Blambort’s, a coffee shop that most people frequented at some point. He liked the atmosphere there. It was filled with quirky, artful off-beaters who exuded a disillusioned but optimistic approach to their lives. Drickner wanted to feel that way. He figured the best way to do that was to just be around more such people.

He crossed the street and leapt over the slush that was piling up at the other corner of the crosswalk. He did a practiced, skillful leap that showed how comfortable he was doing that. Yeah, just jumping over the slush. Nothing too strenuous. See how naturally I adapt to unexpected obstacles?

In 7th grade Drickner played basketball. Not because he liked bastketball. He hated it. He fucking hated it. He god damn hated every torturous second he was jogging back and forth like a gangly fuck on that horrific court. He played basketball because Callatia Vree always went to the games. He had a huge crush on Callatia. He never approached her or asked her out but his whole plan was to get her to notice that he played basketball. And then at one of the school dances he would ask her to dance. She would recognize him and then she would say yes, sure, let’s dance. He would put his hand on her waist.

Anyway Drickner floated in to Blambort’s and sidled up to the line that was forming. Pretty busy here today. Music from before his time ricocheted around the ceiling from hidden speakers. Lots of cool folks taking refuge from the cold. Most of them were his age, reading some thick political non-fiction book maybe or tapping away at a laptop. He wondered if they were working. That would be pretty cool, he thought, if he could work from a laptop. He could come to this coffee shop all the time and really get to know some people. He would have to investigate remote work. It seemed great.

“Hi what can I get ya,” intoned the cashier behind the counter. It was Drickner’s turn.

“Hey yeah how’s it goin’?” Drickner said in a fast robotic tone. His body was tense and coiled like bear rope put away for the season. He was very uncomfortable.

“Good, what can I get ya,” the cashier repeated. Her eyes were bright but Drickner had the feeling that she wasn’t seeing him. Wasn’t seeing the real him. He was just a customer to her. But he was more than a customer. He was a cool dude and he was ready to mingle. She needed to know this. He cleared his throat in a long, drawn out groan that sounded like a metal rake scraping over the sidewalk.

“Ok, can I get a huge glass of coffee?” asked Drickner, frantically abandoning the plan because it was a huge plan and it would take a lot of work. He couldn’t do it. He should just start with some coffee and then he would regroup when he sat down. He didn’t even want coffee. He had ordered coffee at Morp’s Cafe and Sundries.

“Huge? So a large?”

“Yeah. A large. I love coffee! Thanks.” Drickner spilled a few bills onto the counter and awkwardly pushed the crumpled pile towards her. This was not going very well. He would have to figure out what had happened.

Drickner slid down the line to where the orders were processed. Another woman was there preparing all the drinks. She had green hair and part of a tattoo was peeking out from her left shoulder sleeve. It looked like a dragon or maybe it was a horse. Some kind of animal. Dricker stared at it. He liked tattoos because they told a story. Unfinished stories tickled Drickner’s brain because he needed to know the rest of it. He could not abide the tension. He must ask this woman what this tattoo meant.

“I like that,” Drickner offered. He was standing there. He cleared his throat without thinking. He was nervous of course.

“Huh?” The green-haired girl was in the middle of making a grembler and did not really look up.

“Your tattoo. What is that, what is it? What’s it?” He took a deep shuddering breath that sucked the life out of the room.

“Thanks. GOTTA HOT GREMBLER!” she belted out. Drickner hastily moved to the side, caught off balance, and a customer picked up his order. This situation was spinning out of control. He would have to try this again another time.

“What’d you have?” she asked Drickner, not really looking at him for more than a second.

“Hey. Yeah. Just a coffee.” He cleared his throat aggressively. He looked randomly at all the coffee equipment behind the counter, chugging and whirring and responsible for the operation of the business. His thoughts were getting weird. He couldn’t focus. He looked around but nobody was looking at him.

“Here ya go.” Green-hair slid the steaming cup of coffee down the counter, and Drickner pretended he was looking forward to drinking it. In all honesty he couldn’t handle anymore coffee today. This would probably trigger an anxiety attack. But what else was he supposed to do?

Spying an open table, Drickner headed into the aft section of the coffee shop. It was filled with unskilled art for sale, and flyers for various local bands. He never paid attention to these. He thought it was dumb that people tried to promote themselves at local businesses. He didn’t understand how people could be so shameless.

He sat down and took his coat off. He planned to be here for a while. He needed to maximize his time spent in the hot zone. That’s what he called the opportunity to meet new people.

At the next table, two women were engaged in some quiet chatter. They seemed nice. They were dressed in the fashion of the day but their clothes really just made Drickner wonder what they looked like naked. He spent the next 30-40 seconds stealing surreptitious but constant glances at them, trying to freeze in his brain how they looked so he could mentally superimpose their faces and figures on top of the porn he watched sometimes. He really liked the way one of the women sat. Something about her captivated him.

They stopped their casual conversation and left. He tried to catch their eye but they did not look in his direction. He watched them leave, caught up in the un-exaggerated sway of their hips. They seemed natural. He liked that. That’s the kind of thing he wanted to do. Just go to a coffee place or whatever and have conversation about the issues of society and then leave. He wanted to be the kind of person that other people wanted to be. Another woman walked into Blambort’s and he stared her down without realizing how obvious he was being.