He's So Not Worth It

Daily Field Journal of A

“Hey, man. What can I get ya?”The scruffy dude behind the register at Jump, Java, and Wail! stopped rubbing the counter with his grimy cloth. His red hair stuck out around his head like a lion’s mane. His eyes were rimmed with purple eyeliner. He pressed both fists into the countertop and leaned toward me. There were letters tattooed across his fingers, but they were upside down and I couldn’t read them. His brown apron had a white smear across it. The pimple on his chin looked set to pop. He smelled like Southern Comfort and coffee.What the hell was I doing here?“Um . . . you hiring?” I mumbled.The guy pulled back. Like he was surprised. He ran the gross cloth through his hands a couple of times while backing away from me. Almost like he thought I was go