Debaser

Today smelt of Palmolive and darkness. Today sounded like the Pixies.

Here is today:
It is 6:00, 8:00 dark, quiet. A guy my age walks up to the counter. He looks familiar, with chin-length hair, wideset eyes, a beaky nose and a lack of forehead. I'm surprised when he speaks without a Slavic accent.

"Just black tea, please," he says.
"Which type?" I ask.
"I don't know, black."
"We have Chai and English Breakfast in bags."
"English Breakfast, then."
I grab two teabags and start assembling the drink on the counter.
"Do you go to Paly?" he asks. "I think you were in my math class last year."
I squint and place his face.
"Algebra 2, Hawkins?" he follows up.
"Yeah!" I say. "That's right." I grab the cup to fill it, getting another look at him. "Do you still go to Paly?" I ask. "I don't think I see you around much."
He nods. "But I was only here one semester last year."
"Oh, okay." Boiling water and a lid on top, on the counter et voila. He pays; we exchange "See ya"s. I take fifty trips outside to bring out boxes and every time I see him sitting there, smoking and sipping.