Third person.

 Third person. 

He walked down Bishop, down Crowder, down Division. The rain dripped down, the color of the leaves on the sidewalk. Corner Coffee: Axel and Nils were there ahead of him.
     And two women two tables over. The talking one kept pulling her hands toward her chest and pushing them out again as if to convince the other she was speaking from her heart. The sharp-faced other was dressed entirely in black. She was nodding.
     “What do you think they are talking about?” he asked Axel.
     “Luther,” he said. “The women come and go, talking of Luther.” he laughed at the back of his tongue, not quite into his throat.

“They’re talking about husbands,” Nils said, “how husbands continue to mislead wives.”
     “I don’t imagine the thin one is married,” he said, “the one in black.” She was making a gesture with her hand, as if she wanted to say something; then she stopped. The other kept talking.
     “They’re talking about a story they heard this morning on NPR,” Nils said, “not about their husbands but about husbands in general. About men: they continue to mislead women. It’s as inevitable as it is unfortunate. Some woman sociologist said so.”
     “What makes you think that?” Axel said.
     “What?”
     “That she’s not married?”
     “I don’t know,” he said — I said as Nils was saying something else. But I didn’t hear. I was listening to the espresso machine choke and cough and sputter. It gagged and stopped. His last word ended in “-er.”

                                                                      08.17.22
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Graphic: Corner Coffee in the rain, crabbed together on my box.