Late Night at the 7-11

At 2am, there's an odd collection of people at the local 7-11.

A police car is parked prominently at the door, the officer lounges by the ice machine, one hand resting casually on his holster, the other holding a styrofoam coffee cup. I suspect he is more watchful than he appears and he nods to me as I enter. The cashier is making change for a sleepy-eyed teenager in ragged jeans and a black Hard Rock Cafe tee shirt and there are several young women gathered around the coffee machine, all in the telltale uniforms of casino workers - it's impossible to tell if they're coming from or going to work - they chatter like crows on a power line, laughing and bright eyed and loud. A much younger woman comes in with an infant sleeping on her shoulder, a truckdriver with "Mac" monogramed on his navy shirt stumbles through for a newspaper and a cold can of Coke, three young black men try to come through the door all at once, good naturedly pushing and shoving each other and speaking a language I don't recognize. At the beer case, a disheveled and confused looking old man struggles with a 12 pack of Bud Light, unable to coordinate the sliding doors and stay upright at the same time. He trips and falls on his way to the cashier and the 12 pack of beer hits the floor and cracks open sending a dozen beer cans rolling in all directions - the casino women help him to his feet and collect his beer with encouraging words and sympathetic smiles. He mumbles his thanks and leaves, clutching his paper bag of beer and weaving slightly. A professional looking man in a three piece suit enters, carrying a briefcase and checking his watch - he strides to the magazine section, snatches a street map and returns to the counter, tossing a $5 down for a .99 map and doesn't wait for change - like the white rabbit, he is late for a very important date and it shows. A couple approaches, holding hands, and he holds the door for her with a low bow and a flourish - she enters like a queen and curtseys to him, then they rejoin hands and head for the Icee machine, in love and thirsty. A woman in flowing pantaloons with a bejeweled navel emerges from the restroom adjusting her veils and muttering - an enormous brass safety pin holds her shoulder shawl in place and she walks with dignity and quick, sharp steps. She receives no curious looks, no one even appears to notice her as she flings open the door and climbs into a scarred up, old VW bug.

I pay for my cigarettes as a half dozen helmeted, black clad bikers pull up in a roar. The one who holds the door open for me is tattooed wrist to shoulder with a gold stud in one ear and his silverish hair tied back in a pony tail. When I thank him, he gives me a crooked grin and tells me Anything for a lady, ma'am, and gives me a wink. I smile in spite of myself.

It's 2am at the 7-11 and the world is full of night people and unexpectedness.