The one that you are lookin’ for, you’re not gonna find him here.

I was leaning up against Betty, trying to make my routine call to him when this gypsy woman put an abrupt end to it. I saw her strolling up from about fifty feet away.  She took her time at first and then when laid eyes on me  as I dialed the number and brought the phone to my face, her stride gained speed.

Her fat frame jiggled, bounced, and waddled, her skirt blew back behind her, her jewelry jingled louder and quicker as she got closer. I’m pretty sure there was a little fear in my eyes, but I was wearing sunglasses, so she couldn’t see it.  I most likely looked like a smug girl leaning on a black Porsche with an iPhone stuck to her ear, expressionless and smug at the same time. Rayban Wayfarers will do that to you. You look smug even when you don’t mean to.

She strode right up to me, took the phone before I had a chance to hear his familiar voicemail message, threw it on the ground and put her heel right through the screen. She stomped a few more times and then looked at me as if I ought to be ashamed, with pursed lips, furrowed tattooed brows, determination and disappointment.

I was in such shock, my expression didn’t change much, I just looked at it, and looked at her. We had a moment. A moment of hate. And a moment of  “What the FUCK?!”

She looked at me again and softened, took my sunglasses off and set them down on the hood of the car.  She was much shorter than me. And much older. At least in her seventies.  Normally I’m wary of gypsies.  They do steal a lot, but this didn’t seem like her intention. She had purple lips from a bottle of wine.  her skin was dark and weathered. She could have been half black as well. She had smeared black eye liner, but deep black brown eyes. But her eyes told me she knew everything about me. She knew it all.

I was still leaning against Betty, so my slumped figure allowed me to be face to face with her short, stalky frame.   The minute I made eye contact with her, I felt a tear roll down my cheek. And as soon as she reached up to catch it with a fat jiggly arm, the sobs followed.

She immediately took me in her arms, just like a grandmother would. Or I assume how a grandmother would since I never knew mine. She held me tight, and she smelled like peppermint, body odor, and incense.

And I cried on her for what seemed like years.

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