"Until night takes over the sky and drags daughter Moon out to play," finished the redheaded poet in a hushed tone. There was sporadic applause, polite but disinterested. I began looking for the exits.

Ordinarily I’m not much for coffee houses, especially not in the evening, and especially not during poetry readings. I was there for reasons entirely surplus to either coffee houses or poetry, although I imagine that poems have been written about my reasons, albeit not really about my reasons but about the reasons which I currently called mine. I was there for spiritual enlightenment in the form of my guru, the Mystic Yogi Professor Modu, because while I don’t care for coffee houses or poetry readings, he was quite fond of both of them. He was the figure down front applauding the loudest.

I tapped him on the shoulder. "Guru, can we go now?"

"Get me a chai latte with soy milk and stop asking stupid questions."

I walked to the bar, unnoticed by the crowd, who were all talking or smoking or drinking coffee or, in a few cases, waiting for the next act. "Hey Priscilla," I whispered to the dark figure behind the bar, "the Professor wants another chai with soy."

"My soul wants another chai with soy too, Benedict," scowled the dark figure, "but all I ever get is pain with a side of lemon tart. Do you have any idea what it’s like, living in the shadows?"

"No, no I don’t," I groaned. "I don’t know what it’s like to live in utter torment in darkness. All I know is that Modu wants another chai. That’s all."

Priscilla’s face came into the light. She had dark hair, dark eyes, dark makeup, dark clothing, and was just generally dark. Other than that, her appearance was nondescript; one would be hard pressed to pick her out of a lineup of goth baristas. I certainly would have been, had the subject come up. It never did.

"Your words are nothing but tears from a demon’s eyes," she muttered sullenly, then put a scarred plastic cup down on the counter none too gently. "Chai with soy, anything else?"

"Thank you Priscilla," I said with forced politeness, then took the cup. She faded back into the shadow.

I tapped my guru on the shoulder again. "Your chai latte with soy milk," I said as respectfully as I could manage. He just took the cup; the act currently on stage held his full attention, not to be divided for mere drink orders.