Author – Who?

Have I told you I wrote a book? Two of ’em in fact. You might say:
“How nice for Steve ..” or “La-de-da, Steve’s an author.”

Author? Not really, cause authors get read. The hard part about writing a book, story or dirty joke is not the writing so much as it is corralling people to read it and recommend it to others.

I get it. After all my book might suck and then what? What do you say to me assuming we are friends, family etc?

Here’s the good news. It doesn’t suck. This isn’t just me saying this but somewhere between three or ten thousand readers have told me so.

Sure, there are some typos, grammatical errors and the plot meanders a little bit but hell if the world can forgive Billy Joel for the world’s laziest line “he’s talking to Davy who’s still in the Navy” then surely you can forgive me for a few run-on sentences. Right?

Here’s the best part, I never know who has bought / downloaded my book. It’s totally anonymous. Amazon doesn’t tell me who buys it.
This means you can get this book, read it and then judge me without me even knowing about it.

For two dollars and ninety-nine cents, half what you’d pay for a double double caf caf half-caf, blueberry infused coffee-like drink you can have the satisfaction of saying “I knew he couldn’t write his way out of a paper bag.”

Or maybe you’ll like it… Click to go to my latest book.

Either way it’ll be your secret to keep.

Unless you decide to write a review .. please, please please.


Letters from people who all want to help me…

I allow posts on my blog. Nobody writes anything of value on it but nonetheless I allow it. Here are some of the more interesting ones:

      • An impressive share, I simply given this onto a colleague who was doing a little bit evaluation on this. And he in actual fact bought me breakfast as a result of I discovered it for him.. smile.
        So I guess this guy liked my post so much someone else bought him breakfast .. OK I’ll just be over here with my granola bar – you enjoy yourself.
      • I truly enjoy looking through on this web site , it holds superb content .
        Yes, superb content is what I was going for.
      • you are my aspiration, I possess few web logs and sometimes run out from to brand : (.
        I ‘aspire’ this guy … I hope he ‘runs out from to brand’ me soon!
      • I got what you intend,saved to fav, very nice internet site.
        He gets me. (heart)
      • Black on black in the Charg I’m creepin’ Rub me the right way, you might get a genie B.o.B, black Houdini 


My Dog Ma

A message from the Democrat liberal elite:


    • We eat imported chocolates and drink eight dollar lattes all day while laughing at farmers and people who work with their hands.
    • We want open borders. The more Mexicans the better, this is because we hate America.
    • We styme every move the Republicans make to fix things because as everyone knows we control the government. Don’t let those Republicans who are in the majority tell you anything different!
    • We love abortion and celebrate everytime the Supreme court says it’s still legal.
    • We don’t stand for the Allegiance at football games because we don’t go to football games. Are you crazy or what? I don’t think they even have a decent oxygen bar at those things.
    • We loved Barack Obama – mostly because we knew it angered all you goobers out there living the true authentic life. You know, life like you hear on the radio, pickup trucks, dogs and (ugg) beer in bottles.
    • A lot of us are gay. We do this mostly to gross you out but also because we get to wear such fabulous clothes.
      Really gurl!!
    • We don’t really believe in marriage. A lot of us have only done it once and you know about the gay thing.  We do love those marriages. Again, it’s because it pisses the goobers off.
    • Most of us don’t work – or if we do it’s some kind of high brow book learning endeavour. Not real work, shoot, most of us come home from work and don’t have to shuck our clothes off on the back porch or hang our shoes out on the clothesline.
    • We are also secretly on welfare. Sure we have jobs and some of us make some serious wages, but still we got the hookup. ‘Cause we’re part of the liberal elite.
    • Most of us have three or four Obama phones.
    •  Now that the economy is booming I imagine many of you have
      three or four jobs now, so get to work and keep those taxes rolling in.

Thanks for reading this – it’s time for me to check in and get my daily orders from Rachel Maddow and George Soros.



Dinner with Nixon

I dreamt last night that I was invited to dinner with President Nixon. I didn’t have a car so I had to walk there. And old friend walked with me. We strolled down the center of the street I grew up on – you know the one.

My friend was smoking a bowl. I said: You shouldn’t do that, we’ll get arrested.

He smiled at me: You wish.

Later at dinner I asked President Nixon “… if the recent news about Donald Trump reminded him of his last days in office?”

President Nixon said :Screw you, I’m dead.

I didn’t know what to say about that.

Nixon smiled then and said: I’m gonna have the beef stroganoff.

— waking up to more snow in April.

O’Brian — Now available on Amazon Kindle!

Thanks to all of you who participated in my Kindle Scout adventure.
I was able to get my story “O’Brian” out to over a thousand readers! O’Brian wasn’t selected by Amazon but I feel good enough about my story I have decided to publish it myself on Kindle Direct.

Please take a leap of faith and read this book.  I promise that it has a beginning, a middle and a very satisfying end.


O’Brian — a book by Steve Devine

I am excited to announce that my latest book, “O’Brian” has been admitted into the Kindle Scout program.

Kindle Scout puts the first 5,000 words of the candidate’s book online and if enough ‘Scouts’ nominate it they will select it for publication.

This does not mean my book has been accepted for publication, however, it does mean that my book has a chance.

This is where you fit in – please click here  and give it a read.  If you are an existing Kindle / Amazon customer you  will not be asked to sign up for anything and it won’t cost anything.  If you think it’s something you’d like to read more of you can nominate it. If you like it, please forward this post to any of your friends that you think will enjoy it.

Here is the link to my book.


Coffee with Tim

Today I went to a “Coffee Hour” meeting with Congressman Tim Walberg. Congressman Walberg represents the district that I belong to – the 7th district of Michigan. The meeting was held in the fifth floor of the Jackson Tower building in a room with about 100 seats. By the time the meeting started these seats were filled and about another twenty people were standing on each side of the large conference room. We were encouraged to fill out large comment cards that had space for our personal details (email address – street address etc.) and our question(s). I put two questions on mine concerning the Congressman’s recent vote supporting AHCA (TrumpCare)

I’ll confess right from the beginning that I like Mr. Walberg. I have met him before and he is to all appearances a humble, sincere man who believes that his faith (Tim is a former pastor) guides his actions and that despite the corrupting atmosphere of Washington he is still who he was when he first was elected. There are many who disagree with this – including me. Tim doesn’t rock the boat and has never to my recollection opposed Paul Ryan or John Boehnor. He doesn’t fear us nor does he mind that he is disliked so strongly.

The crowd was majority anti Walberg or at least anti AHCA, many had placards with Disagree written on them, other signs read Shame, Single Payer or Fix ACA. Questions ranged from health care to Trump – Russia. Walberg answered most questions put to him, although anyone who’s watched Republicans speak on these topics could have predicted his answers. One question he avoided (or just didn’t have an answer for) was “would he support a independent investigation into Trump – Russia ties.”

Every question submitted to him was answered skillfully and when one of his points triggered responses from the crowd he either raised his voice slightly to continue speaking or stopped talking until he had regained the floor. He only responded directly once to a shouted question, in all other moments he answered only the submitted questions.

The crowd broke out into chants at different times drowning out the Congressman. I joined in on some of these chants. It was fun. Like eating a bowl of ice cream for dinner is fun. At one point about ten or fifteen people stood up and held their signs above their heads. These folks remained standing until the meeting was over.

I haven’t been to one of these type events in a long time so I don’t know if it was typical or not. It sure seemed like a lot of people were energized and determined to oppose Walberg.

The Democrats need that determination because Tim Walberg is a formidable opponent – anyone trying to remove him from office must first acknowledge Walberg’s skills and put someone up who has the same qualities. Tim knows the company line and he is VERY good at following the script.

Democrats beware, intellectual smart asses will not defeat this man.

Obama vs. Trump

I recently commented to a friend of mine that I thought he had more in common with Barack Obama than he did with Donald Trump. He disagreed with me. I imagine that if I pushed him on this he would refer to Trumps ‘values’ or something like that. He’s a regular guy our Donald, just like you and me. Right?
So let’s review:
Barack Obama was born into a middle class family, Trump was not. In fact Donald Trump was a millionaire on the day he drew his first breath. How much were you worth on the day you were born?
Donald Trump went to private schools as a child and then military school. What was the name of the military school you attended?
Donald Trump’s children had a nanny named Milka Milisavljevic – what was the name of your children’s nanny?
Neither one of them were in the military although Trump sometimes likes to draw equivalence to his time in the military school as being in the service. Donald has also taken a stand on heroes. He likes the kind that don’t get captured. Barack Obama has yet to make a public statement on POW’s.
Forget what Trump said he wanted to grab on the Hollywood access tape. On that same video he talked about how he tried to get a married woman to have sex with him recently. He did this in 2005 just months after he had married his third wife Melania (our First Lady). How many women / men have you propositioned as a newlywed?
Barack Obama married his first wife in 1992 and so far she’s his only wife.
Barack Obama scooped ice cream at a Baskin-Robbins as a teenager and has since worked a few different jobs and has had a few different bosses. Trump’s only job is the one he still is doing – Real Estate developer and international playboy. He’s never had to report to anyone. How about you? How many bosses have you had in your life?
Barack Obama is comfortable with his Christian faith. He and his wife regularly attend church and he is very familiar with the bible. Trump thinks “two Corinthians” is the normal pronunciations of Second Corinthians. How do you say it?
Barack Obama loves sports – particularly basketball, every year he has published his March madness bracket. Trump likes owning sports teams. How many teams do you own?
Barack Obama took a bunch of his friends to Five Guys for hamburgers. Donald Trump doesn’t have any friends. When he eats fast food he does it on his plane. What do you like to eat when you are flying on your jet?
Well maybe I’m not being fair to the Donald. I am after all a Democrat. When I started this article I said that Donald was reportedly a regular guy just like you and me. This is what your family photos look like right?


My brother says I got OCD but fuck him, what’s he know?
We’re twins, born like two minutes apart – or ten minutes? You’d think I’d remember, I heard Ma tell the story ‘nough times.  The time I heard the story best we were like six or seven years old. It was hot – so hot. Why’d we have to sit in the sun like that I don’t know. We was across the block sitting in Ma’s girlfriend’s back yard.  Ma was having a beer and a smoke with Ginny. Ma’s beer was even sweating it was so gol-damed hot. She’d peeled the label some with her fingernail so the water could drop out onto the tablecloth instead of her shirt.  It was a pretty blue tablecloth unfolded into squares, that’s what Ma loved about Ginny she told me once,
“Even in the middle of the hottest friggin month of the year Ginny’s got a tablecloth on her picnic table.”


Ma tilted her long pretty neck up at God and blew some smoke out of her mouth at him then she told Ginny ’bout how Sonny and me was born. “Man, I thought I’d like to ‘ave split in fuckin’ half Gin.” she peeled a little more paper from her bottle. “I was bleeding and spitting and screaming bloody murder for the longest time, ‘course Bill had long since ran out to the street to have a smoke.”  Ma lit herself another cigarette, dropped her little pink lighter on the table,  and ran her fingers through her curly black hair. This was the same hand she had her cigarette in mind you, that’s how good she was with her hands.


“So yeah it was a long labor having This One.” Ma pushed her thumb at me. “I was nearly ready to slide right outta the bed pushing This One out.” Then she smiles at Sonny. “But it was worth it in the end. Ten minutes later (or was it two?) I got my Sonny.”
Man, it was hot that day. We had Kool-aid. Ginny gave it to us in paper cups with little ice cubes floating on the top. I spilled mine right away but of course Sonny didn’t spill his. I can still see his stupid red lips as he drank it. I put the ice cubes in my mouth and chewed em up, telling myself that this was better anyways – my mouth was nice and cool for a while and all that dumb ass had was red lips. Ha.


Sonny is all a time telling stories about me. I know why that is. He’s the youngest. Jealous, I guess. It don’t matter what I do, or even if Sonny is right there with me doin’ whatever it is that he’s tattlin about us doing I’m the one gets his ass licked.  Sonny thinks he’s the smart one. He told Ma I was the one that cut my sheets up with her pink shears. But I couldn’t help it you see. They ain’t like normal scissors. The blades are squiggly – like the border on Charlie Brown’s sweatshirt so I asks her about them and she takes them and cuts a piece of old material with them. “See they are pink shears.”  Then she slides them back into the drawer under her sewing machine.  So yeah, one night I was thinking on them scissors and I was wondering if they were really pink so I went and got them. The whole house was asleep cept Sonny and me. I had them under the covers looking at them with my flashlight. Just as I thought, they weren’t any color at all. Just metal. Metal and they were heavy. I opened and closed them a bunch of times listening to the snick sounds they made and then before I knew it I had cut my top sheet up like Charlie Brown’s sweatshirt.


Sonny of course couldn’t wait to tell Ma what I’d done. So I got a paddling from Dad.  That hurt like hell. So yeah, I took a knife to Sonny over that. I don’t remember it all, just the first part where Sonny was laughing at me as I cried into my pillow after the paddling.  He was all “I told you not to mess with those scissors you dumb ass.” He jumped on the end of my bed. “Now you don’t have a top sheet. You’ll just have to make do without one.” Laughing.


So I stabbed him. That shut him up.  Thats how we both ended up in this place – him cause he was bleeding all over the place and me cause I tried to kill him.

My brother says I’m a psycho but fuck him, what’s he know?
I told that story about Ma and her girlfriend Ginny to this women doctor last week and she leaned back in her chair and asked me: “How did that make you feel?”
What a dumb ass question. I ain’t no doctor and I’ll admit that I’m not as smart as some, even Sonny but all the same I know that’s a stupid question. “She’s my Ma.” was all I would say.


I went to this church the other day. OK, I didn’t really ‘go there’ but you know it felt like I did – like some dreams do. This guy in a robe greeted me at the door and touched his hand on the back of my head. It wasn’t nothing dirty now, don’t go thinking that. It was nice, like I was a little kid, not nearly all growed up like I am now. He smoothed my hair down and said I was welcome to go into the other room and he’d be in there soon to tell us all about God. So I went in. As I walked in to the main part of the church most people kind of spread themselves out like so I couldn’t sit next to them. I had walked in pretty far when a pretty lady in a sun dress slid over closer to her husband and let me sit down next to her. Her husband said something into her ear but I didn’t catch what it was. After a while she was talking to me about her dog and everything. She was worried that she hadn’t brought him (the dog) inside plus she couldn’t remember whether she had locked the door. Her husband leaned past her and looked at me hard like and then told me that she had stood outside the door and turned the key ten times like she always did.  He raised his eyebrows and then rolled his eyes at her like she was nuts.  I hate that. So I told him about the houses on my street.
“For years when you came out of my house and turned left there were four houses, an empty lot and then three more. First house is white, then red brick, white again then blue – empty lot, white house, gray house and finally white.  I go out every day that I think about it and run down the street and push the doorbells.”
The wife with the dog is nodding her head now. She gets it.
“See I have to ring those doorbells.” The guy in the robe now is getting ready to tell us about God so I hurry with my story. “So anyways see, one day I come out and run down the street to ring my doorbells.  ‘First house is white, then red brick, white again then blue – empty lot, white house, gray house and finally white.’ 
Except no.
“Somebody had put up a house on the empty lot.” I shouted.  Now it’s not ‘First house is white, then red brick, white again then blue – empty lot, white house, gray house and finally white.’  NO. I can feel the guy in the robe looking at me and some a the other people in the church. I gotta finish my story though so I stand up and keep telling the wife with the dog.No. Now everything is fucked up. It’s a God-damned mess,” I tell her. She’s nodding her head – she gets it.  Well, I guess it’s a mistake to say “God-damned” in this guy’s church cause they made me leave.


The doctor lady was just in here and asks me: “Can you tell me who I’m talking to? ”
Another stupid question. That’s why I’m growing the mustache. So people can tell us apart. Yeah it’s pretty thin now but it’ll get thicker, as long as Sonny don’t grow one I’ll be OK.
Doctor lady says again. “Are you Sonny or ‘This one’?”
I don’t say nothin’
She can see the mustache can’t she?


My brother says I’m nuts but fuck him, what’s he know?

Stavros and Me

I quit drinking coffee at some point in my life. I don’t really know why but I started up again a month or so ago. There are two Starbucks on my block. Yeah, two. Every morning, before I stopped drinking the stuff, I would go downstairs, three flights down and walk down to the one that is on my side of the street. It’s further than the other one but you have to cross the street to get to that one so I always used the one I’m talking about. They got used to me coming in there and they would even put Juliet’s name on her Venti Soy milk carmaletto latte even though she never actually set foot in the place. I guess I told them her name at some time and so they sharpied ‘Juliet’ on her drink.

Armed with her drink and mine I would go back to the apartment and wake her up in time to get to her job downtown. She liked to get up at 7:45 so she could shower and catch the 8:25 train. After she was gone I would get my shower and start taking calls. I’m a help desk guy – freelance sort of. I have to take two hundred calls a week to keep my gig and I usually get those under my belt by Wednesday morning. Everything else is gravy. Juliet was less than enthusiastic about my career but she stayed quiet most of the time about it. We were at a party a few months ago and she said I was a telephone sex worker. To be fair she’d had a couple of glasses of wine on an empty stomach so she probably didn’t even know what she’d said. I think that that party might be where she and Jason got started. I don’t know.


So like I said, I just got started drinking coffee again, but I don’t get it at either of the Starbucks on my block.  I go to a bar named Slappys. Slappys is between my apartment and the Starbucks I used to go to. One morning I just woke up and decided I wanted a cup of coffee. I might have been dreaming of Juliet – yeah I think I was. She and I were looking at a Sharper Image catalog and considering whether to buy a Swedish coffee brewer. It was carved out of a block of Norwegian porcelain. Who knew that was a thing anyways? It cost $595.  I was getting my credit card out when I woke up with a start and found myself craving coffee.

I was surprised to find it had turned cold and was snowing lightly as I started walking towards the Starbucks. I hadn’t put much on except my sweatpants and a pullover sweater. Slappys’ bar door banged open just before I reached it and a delivery man pushed a two wheeled cart out across my path. I pulled up short and for some reason turned into the bar.  It was an odd feeling, a real throwback like the kind of bar my Dad and I went to looking for my Uncle Sal. Uncle Sal would go on a bender every couple of months and it was my Dad’s job to track him down and deliver him back to Aunt Sharmane. Ma always made me go with him.  My job, I finally figured out, was to be with Dad so he and Uncle Sal wouldn’t get even drunker once they found each other.

There were three guys sitting at the bar. Two right next to each other, hunched over staring into short glasses of beer. Empty shot glasses stood in front of each man. They each had a bar towel draped around their necks.  The third guy was reading a newspaper and was smoking a cigarette. This surprised me since a recent state law had been passed outlawing this. I guess maybe they didn’t know about the law here in Slappys.  The guy with the cigarette stood up slowly and folded his newspaper under his arm as he walked behind the bar.

“What’ll it be?” His voice was thick and gravely. I was pretty sure he was Eastern European.

Bartender, I thought. “Do you have coffee?”

He turned to the back of the bar and pulled a Styrofoam cup off a big stack of cups next to an ancient Bunn double burner.  He then took a decanter from the Bunn and poured steaming hot coffee into the cup. Finally he grabbed a flimsy plastic lid from somewhere back there and slapped it over the top of the cup.

“Fifty-five cents.” He growled.

I considered asking for cream and a Sweet and Low but though better of it when one of the two patrons opened his mouth and belched. Instead I took a dollar bill out of my sweatpants and told him to keep the change.

I and my coffee were nearly out the door when I heard one of the bar flies call him ‘Stavros.’ I considered throwing the coffee into the nearest trash can and continuing on to Starbucks but then thought better of it. What if upon seeing me they make Juliet’s drink? They don’t know .. they don’t know what? I ask myself. They don’t know what happened. Shit neither did I really. No, I had my coffee. Stavros made it and poured it out for me. So I was set. I returned to my apartment and was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was pretty good. It had a good aroma and dusky taste. Black. I hadn’t drank a coffee black since I was in college.

The next morning I woke up and wanted coffee again. No dream of Juliet this time, just a desire for coffee. I looked out the window and noted the weather before heading out. I put a thicker coat on and grabbed my gloves.

Stavros was behind the bar when I walked in. He was leaning over his newspaper mumbling to himself. The two old guys were in their same spots, moldering.

“Coffee” I smiled.

Stavros grunted then turned to the bar and repeated the same actions as he had before. I noted the stack of Styrofoam cups hadn’t seemed to have dropped any since yesterday. I might very well be the only coffee customer he has.  Which made me marvel at the enormous reserve of cups the man has next to his coffee machine. Had some smooth talking salesman come in here sometime in the last decade and convinced Stavros that he needed two thousand Styrofoam cups vouchsafed against the day he would be called upon to sell ten gallons of coffee?

“Ten cents.” He snarled.

“Ten cents?” I asked.

“Ten cents.”

“It was fifty-five cents yesterday.” This man was playing with me.

“Today – ten cents.” He leveled his eyes at me, daring me to argue with him again.

“Ok.” I said digging a dime from my pocket. “See you tomorrow.”

One of the old men sang “Tomorrow, tomorrow – I love you …” his voice trailed off. He’d either forgot the words or lost interest.

The next day Stavros and I exchanged coffee for money.

“Fifty-five cents.” He said.

I smiled and pulled three quarters from my pocket. His eyes were drawn to the coins as I dropped them on the bar. “Keep the change.”

I was stepping through the door when I heard him say. “Bah”

The next few days were dark. I didn’t go out for coffee. Juliet had texted me. She thought we should talk. I ignored the texts and stayed in bed.

Sunday, I went for a walk and stood outside Slappys for ten minutes before walking back home. I had been by there the night before and there was music playing and I could smell hamburgers frying. The bar did OK for itself I guess. I wanted to go in but I didn’t.

Monday morning I woke up and made myself get out of bed. I had to sign in today and take some calls. Last week’s funk had hurt my numbers and I needed the income. So I went down to Slappys and got some coffee.

Stavros slid the cup in front of me and said. “Thirty five cents.”

“Thirty five, huh?  Your prices sure fluctuate a lot.”

“What is this fluctuate?” he said slyly. I didn’t take the bait. For all I knew the man was a college professor.

“How much was this coffee yesterday?”

“You weren’t here yesterday.” He shrugged.

I pulled two quarters from my pocket and asked. “How much will this coffee cost tomorrow?

Stavros eyed the quarters and said. “I am not sure. Better you should come in tomorrow and we will find out together.”

I stopped the shenanigans with the money and decided to see what I could do to bring Stavros into present times. I was feeling bad about the Styrofoam cups accumulating in my apartment. I found a plastic travel mug that Juliet had given me in the back of a kitchen cabinet. It had a frog on the front of it and it said “Pucker up – I might be your Prince!”
I took that with me the next day and sat it on the bar. Stavros looked at it briefly and then turned to the bar, took down a Styrofoam cup and filled it with coffee.
“No.” I said. I wanted you to put my coffee in this cup. I spun it so he could see the frog.
Stavros picked it up and then showed it to the guys at the bar. They squinted at it and then chuckled. Stavros put it back on the bar and then handed me my coffee.

“Fifty-five cents.”

Now I had two stupid cups – I took the top off the frog cup and then took the top off my Styrofoam cup. I poured my coffee into the frog cup and then pushed the Styrofoam cup back across the bar. “Now you can recycle that cup.”
Stavros grunted, took the cup and its top and tossed it into a trash bin under the bar.

“Fifty-five cents.”

Each day I walked into Slappys with my plastic frog cup and walked out with coffee in that cup and an empty Styrofoam cup.

Stavros doesn’t recycle.

Once a week I take my Styrofoam cups into the Starbucks. They have a very nice recycle setup in the lobby. The irony of this does not escape me.

Juliet was sitting on my stoop one morning when I came out.
“Why haven’t you answered my texts?”
“I don’t know.” She is beautiful. Her hair moves in the icy breeze. It’s blonder then I recall. “Have you changed your hair?”
She shakes her head. She’s not going to answer that question. I realize that she never answers any question that she doesn’t want to. She get answers to questions.

How is it I never saw that before?

“I forgot about that cup.” She points to my frog cup.
I feel my face blush. How will I explain this silly game I play daily with a man who doesn’t know my name?
“Yeah, I don’t …” I turn back towards my door but then I stop and turn back. “What do you want Juliet?”
“Let’s walk.” She says and loops her arm through mine. “I need a latte.”
For a few steps she is quiet and then she starts. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Jason is such a child. He doesn’t know how to be .. “ She smiles into my face. “He’s not you, is what I’m saying.” Juliet squeezes my arm. “I’m hoping we can put all this behind us.”
I feel myself nodding my head. I can’t really think as she chatters away. We pull up next to Slappys and her face slips into puzzlement. “What’s here?”
“I get my coffee here now.”
“Why..” she looks askance at the bar door. “Let’s go to Starbucks. I’ll buy.”
“No.” I plant my feet.
“Honey.” Her face hardens. “Don’t be stubborn.”
I leave her on the sidewalk and go into the bar. Stavros slaps his newspaper on the bar and looks past me at Juliet as she peeks into the bar.
I don’t say anything as I hear the door slam shut. I know that she has not come into the bar. She’s still out there. Outside.
“I’d like to buy the bar a drink” I say impulsively.
The half dead men at the bar suddenly come awake.
Stavros looks at me for a second, giving me a chance to change my mind. His eyes flit back to the closed door where my former girlfriend is tapping her foot on the pavement.
“OK.” He nods his head as if agreeing to some unspoken question and pours out the drinks for the men. He then takes my plastic frog cup and fills it with coffee.

“Three dollars and fifty-five cents.” He says.
I pull a five dollar bill from my pocket, drop it on the counter and say:
“Keep the change.”