East Harlem Cafe , Dinner

She had one of those window-shaking, soul-smacking power voices that could turn a flat café floor into a stage. Most of the songs were originals with only a melodic guitar and her reverberating cords. I ordered my usual turkey sandwich at the counter. “This is dedicated to all the women—no matter your size—who are beautiful”. I closed my eyes and breathed deep the mocha frappuccino iced latte earl grey tea air. It was a Spanish song about walking into the sun with a pimpled face, with hair that stands firm against the wind, with a booty that jiggles at each step, and with a smile that holds back a bitter sweet song of soul.