he coffee shop I sit in is called Macy's. An Old Austin feel, a feel-good feel, everyone in wrinkled clothes. That's cool, man. It's all cool.
The college kids behind me are debating over who does the best Christopher Walken imitation.
"Without a doubt, it's Kevin Spacey."
"Dude, have you seen Jay Mohr do Walken? It's hilarious."
"Who?"
"Jay Mohr."
"No way, man, Spacey is king. Did you see him playing Walken on 'Saturday Night Live'? That shit was hysterical."
"You idiot, that's Jay Mohr that was on 'Saturday Night Live.' Spacey imitated Walken on the Oscars."
On the Oscars? You fool. But I keep my mouth shut, shoot a smile of silent solidarity to the man arguing for Spacey. Stay in there, kid. Give it all you got.
At the counter, the little ragtag hippie girl is chanting, "Chico, California! Chico, California!"
"I've never even heard of Chico," I say. "What brings on this enthusiasm?"
"It's where we're going to live," she says. "I think it's like north of Sacramento or something."
"No way," the beautiful dredlocked redhead behind the counter says over the honking espresso machine. "Did you know that the love of my life lives in Chico?"
"It's a totally soulful place," says the ragtag hippie girl. "I hear there's this place where you can get pizza and espresso all day for like $3. The owner of the place is totally sympathetic to squatters. I might even be able to afford college. Maybe."
Without paying for her coffee, the ragtag hippie girl heads back outside, where all the young and scrubby vagrants congregate on the picnic tables, smoking rolled cigarettes, playing chess and their bongos. No one pays much mind, unless they spill over in front of the coin-op laundromat next door.
"This sign says no loitering," says the coin-op's sixtysomething owner. "This table is for customers only."
"Cool it, lady, we were just talking," says a boy with a scraggly beard and a rainbow stocking cap.
"Talk somewhere else." In the silence, no one moves. "I mean it. Or I'll call the cops."
"All right, all right," says the boy, getting up from the table with his hands up. "Sheesh."
Inside the bathroom at Macy's, a war is being waged on a blackboard. "Stop snowmaking on our mountains!" it reads. "But what makes them OUR mountains?" asks another. "We must find a way to live in harmony with our surroundings while staying mindful of the local economy," reads a third, so long it snakes around the first two. "Right on, sister!" beside that.
Outside, you can hear the sound of the Santa Fe railroad. It cuts right through the center of town, at least once an hour, shutting down all cross-traffic in the small college city's downtown for five minutes, sometimes 10. Wooo-woooo, over and over again, wooo-wooo.
It's a Saturday night. Welcome to Flagstaff.