Hot Cocoa Bombs (Away) Part 2

Men and women settled into their seats and I commenced my bombing run.

Ratt started playing on portable Wi-Fi speakers set up a table. A homeless man was going to DJ breakfast with his phone.

One of my first sales pitches was to a young man, neatly coiffed, smartly attired, (and therefore strikingly out of place). He told me he was starting a new job right after breakfast.

“Where's it at?” I said.

“A pizza parlor.”

“That's great. You want a bomb in your coffee?”

“A what?”

I explained and held out the bomb with the tongs in tantalizing fashion.

“Sure,” he said.

I dropped the bomb and it rippled the liquid like a stone kerplunking a placid lake. The sound was glorious, strangely soothing and exciting at the same time.

The kid smiled and laughed. He sipped the drink.

“Are you excited for your job?” I said.

“I'm nervous,” he said.

“You'll do fine. How about another bomb?”

“Why not?”

I bombed him again.

Jesus! By the time the kid got to work, he'd be whipped into a sugar/caffeine frenzy of such terrific intensity that he wouldn't be able to hold a butter knife, much less toss pizza dough in the air and catch it. I probably got him fired before he even started the job!

Guns and Roses came on the speakers.

I roamed the room and worked the counter, dive bombing. One time I released one from a higher altitude and the resulting splash left a significant mess on the table. Everyone loved the effect and there were yukks all around. I was bombing away, not ruthlessly, but with ruth, and honoring the true spirit of this virtually unknown and rarely used wonderful noun originating from the Old Testament.

Sympathy for the Devil by the Stones came on the speakers. In a street ministry! Was that a good thing? As Mark Twain once wrote, “Sir, it is pie!”

Please to meet you / hope you guess my name

But what's puzzling you / is the nature of my game

I hit one man with four bombs in one large cup and his cup runneth over. I served another man four bombs on a plate. I bombed one man as he walked out the door with a coffee to go. Pretty soon I was even bombing staff and volunteers! At some point I ran out of dark chocolate bombs and switched to peppermint. Was that some form of mercy?

The attack lasted an hour or so, and then the music stopped, conversations hushed or ended altogether, some people left, others dozed at the tables or mats on the floor.

Stillness reigned.

And no, I never bombed my own coffee.