Two People Go Into a Coffee Shop to Talk About Death

Two people go into a coffee shop every day. They’re young, done with college, or almost done with it. Doesn’t matter. They both have jobs, and, it doesn’t matter either, how much money they make.

The girl orders a tea latte. Guy orders a cappuccino. He likes it dry, to savor the espresso. They sit in a different seat every day. Sometimes at the couch, sometimes by the window. Other times, at the back. They know all the employees, but their favorite quit a year ago. They still see that person anyway, for drinks and stuff. Shooting pool.

“Okay. Today, it’s sunny. Very California. The two get to the coffee shop, order, take a seat — and talk about what they talk about, every day: Death. They discuss death. Neither one’s dying. He’s not in forensics. She’s not in med school. They don’t work in a funeral home or a cemetery, but they always discuss death.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. They just do it. Okay, so: a man gets asked what he wants to be reincarnated as — if he could go back as an animal. Know what he says? Dolphin. He says a dolphin.”

“And?” She sips her lovely tea latte.

“And the guy dies and gets reincarnated as a porpoise — but ends up as one of those porpoises at an aquarium. Fucking kids screaming, crying, banging their hands all up against the glass.”

“That sucks.”

“I know! The porpoise gets pet once in a while, when they let him out, fed some excellent fish, that’s okay, but whatever, it’s pretty shitty. He wanted to be a free dolphin, out in the ocean somewhere, Bahamas or something, pfffttt, but no give. You know some crazy woman threw her lighter at him one time.”

“Nah-uh.”

“Yeah. Then he lost his will to live.”

“Aww. Then what happened?”

The guy finishes up his cappuccino. “So, the porpoise loses his will to live . . . but he doesn’t die, and that’s the crazy thing. And guess what?”

“What?”

“The aquarium closes. The aquarium closes, but they can’t get rid of him.”

“Why?”

“Don’t ask why. Forget it: that’s not important. What’s important is what’s next. This is the sad part. Don’t cry on me now.”

“I don’t cry.”

“Okay. Good. So, the aquarium’s closing.”

“I thought you said it was closed.”

“Oh yeah, it’s closed. So, the aquarium’s closed . . . but the porpoise is still there.”

“Still there?”

“Yeah! Still there. He’s all alone and emo and shit — at the bottom of a waterless tank. It’s all drained. Nothing. And you know what?”

“What?”

“Next door — I mean like right next door to it, they set up a water park. Slides and everything. People, kids, pets, swimming, splashing, diving, you name it. They even have this awesome barbecue thing.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Then what?”

“Oh yeah, yeah. I’m getting to that. So — the porpoise is all emo and by itself, in the waterless tank — and on the high wall, right next door at the water park, a little boy leans over the side of the wall, soaking wet, and sees the emo porpoise, just fucking doing nothing, so he points at it with his finger and yells, “You’re bootsy you stupid fish!”