in the crook of his elbow

He looks dead.

Just over his shoulder, a lineup is growing.

Funny time for a crowd to cluster at Tim Hortons; 

Tuesday, 3:00 PM, not lunch, not dinner, not expected.

I could logic it away if they were all seniors.

Its a known flocking instinct.

A pre-supper leg stretch.

Mid-afternoon meds need to be taken with some food.

Pseudo city hall discussions about snow removal.

A shared narrative of care, check ins, and proof of life kinda support system.

“Where’s Harry?” Someone asks.

“Oooh, didn’t you hear?” And such.

But, its a mixed crowd.

Strange.

The 3-5 PM wedge is dangerous.

I remember that Bermuda triangle expanse of time.

To send staff home or not?

A second rush could happen, a third rarely.

But ‘if it does’, was all we needed to keep one or two staff on until the next shift at 6:00 PM.

The drive thru speaker crackles.

I check the menu, no featured donuts left.

Only coffee today I guess.

My wide turn swings the headlights across his table.

Slumped guy is slowly tipping forwards.

I hit the brakes a little and creep past his post in sync with his waning posture.

His wrist cradles a phone, ear buds dangle down his chest.

Like a drawbridge descending, his nose comes within centimeters of his knuckles.

Without warning he springs awake. The bridge is drawn.

I imagine an intrepid dragon slayer launched sidelong into the dragon’s moat.

His last, gargled, curses of surprise fading into the abyss.

The couple near him say something, he nods.

Then he draws his coffee closer, checks his phone, and rubs his nose.

He looks up at me as I pass, snarls slightly, and starts to pick food from his left canine.

A silver loop frames a tooth.

An empty space fills the gap next to it.

The back lit room means that he cannot see me as he works his jaw.

But he can use the window as a mirror.

The couple starts to pack up.

He watches them pull on mitts and scarves, 
gives a weak wave, and eyes around the room 
for anyone else that may have seen him dip.