"I'll buy you a dinner," she said carefully, "provided I can go with
you and see for myself that you actually eat it."
I felt my face flushing red. "You wouldn't want to be seen with a bum
like me, ma'am."
"I'll be seen with you if you really want to eat."
It was certainly unfair and probably immoral. But I had no choice
whatever.
"Okay," I said, tasting bitterness over the craving.
* * * * *
The coffee was in a thick white cup before me on the counter. It was
pale, grayish brown and steaming faintly. I picked it up in both hands
to feel its warmth.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the woman sitting on the stool
beside me. She had no right to intrude. This moment should be mine, but
there she sat, marring it for me, a contemptible _tourist_.
I gulped down the thick, dark liquid brutally. It was all I could
do. The cramp flowed out of my diaphragm. I took another swallow and
was able to think straight again. A third swallow and I felt--good.
Not abnormally stimulated, but strong, alert, poised on the brink of
exhilaration.
That was what coffee did for me.