Glass slippers leave distinct impressions and silver tongues always tell you what you want to hear. The sun beat down and my shoulders burned in the desert heat. It was almost too hot for coffee but some things continue on regardless of the lunacy.

Given the circumstance, an iced coffee was in order. Sudenly out of no where, she floated past me through the swelter as if she lived in perpetual shade, wearing a yellow sundress that barely covered her tall, lithe body, ridiculously large sunglasses, a giant floppy hat and glass slippers. Standing behind, I waited as she looked over the menu on the board. The options were the same: tall, grande, venti, soy, non fat, low fat, regular, flavor, no flavor, scone, muffin and questionable cookies made by some local woman. I waited patiently, not really caring about the time.

I wondered about her glass slippers; where she found them, how much they cost and if her name was Cinderella or at the very least, Cindy. The barista seemed less patient but she had to be there, which always makes a difference. The woman in front turned to look at me.

“What would you order?” She asked. I raised an eyebrow and considered her question. I looked at the barista and the menu. I looked down at her glass slippers and then up at her floppy hat and said,
“A martini.” She tilted her head as if I was from another planet, which I am, and said quizzically,
“Silly rabbit, they don’t serve martini’s here.” I smiled and stared straight into her covered eyes. She slowly parted her mouth and touched her auburn hair which is always a good sign.
“What are you going to order?” I looked away and appeared disinterested. I shifted my attention back to her.

“What difference does it make what I order?” She smiled brilliantly.
“I need to be inspired.” My mind flashed with possibilities, looked back at the menu, back at her and said.
“You should definitely order a mango smoothie.” She took off her hat and shook her long main of hair, creating a moment of pure lust. She looked back at the board and spoke without looking at me.
“It appears they don’t have mango smoothies here.” I pretended to be surprised.
“Is that so? If we go to my house I can make you one.”

She put her hat back on and headed for the door. She stopped, took off her sunglasses and looked at me with violet (other worldly) eyes that always accompany the insane. She stood at the door, beckoning me with silent anticipation. I shrugged at the barista and walked over to the door, waiting to let her go first. Her hat barely made it through the door. Her glass slippers made a hollow clinking sound that reminded me of marbles tapping each other in a childhood game of years past.

The next morning she stayed in the shower for almost an hour. I made coffee and smoked one cigarette after another. I waited and wondered about the craziness of life, while listening to the Incessant hum of my neighbors lawn mower. She finally made her naked entrance, glass slippers in hand. She sat down next to me and placed them on the floor. I smiled to myself and bent over to put them on, one slipper at a time. She kissed me on the cheek and put her hat back on, stood up and walked out the door naked, only wearing her glass slippers and big floppy hat. Her sundress was draped over her arm as if she had just picked it up from the cleaners.

I watched her drive away with the top down, my neighbor’s lawn mower suddenly silent. I lit another smoke and opened the paper to the news. My coffee cup was empty again so I poured another cup. You never know when certain words put together will create an impression, but It was good to be out of the asylum again. I never did ask her name