Pirate at the Oasis

There's a pirate sitting next to me at the Oasis Cafe.

He walked in with a sandy, scraggly beard and a black tricorn hat. He was clearly homeless and before coming into the cafe he'd tied his dog - a black lab/pit bull - to a parking meter and gently poured some water into a collapsible bowl.

There were number of open seats but the pirate sat right next to be, at the counter facing out the windows.

"He has to be able to see me," the pirate explained.

And he was right, in the moments it had taken the pirate to walk into the cafe and order his meal, the dog had been anxious, but now the pirate was waving to him out the window and the dog settled down, lapping at the water in the bright sun.

The pirate's meal came: a plate of spanakopita and a tall coffee. He took out an Android phone in a very roughed case and plugged into a large portable battery charger.

"It's good to have," he mumbled, or something like that. I couldn't quite make it out. I just stared at his wind-worn face, his black jacket and black tricorn. I saw that he had a cane, but he'd left it out by the parking meter.

Between big gulps of coffee and small bites of spanakopita, the pirate would talk to the dog through the window. The window was closed and the dog couldn't hear him - I was sitting next to him and I could barely hear him - but he could tell the pirate was waving and smiling at him, and so he wagged his tail.

Halfway through his lunch, before he'd barely touched his food, the pirate got up and went out to the sidewalk. He sat down Indian-style with the dog, talking to him some more, and playing with him. He rubbed his ears and made sure the dog drank more water.

During this whole time, I don't think I looked at my work, I just watched the pirate the whole time, listening to him, but not really hearing anything he said.

When the cell phone was charged, he scarfed the rest of his food, picked up his coffee, untied his dog, and walked back out into the city.