Jordan's feelings

In the coffee shop was a woman in her mid-thirties reading a COSMO, a young man studying a college text, a woman in her twenties chatting on her cell phone, and an older man reading the paper. A young girl, probably about 19, was working as the barrista.

Jordan bought himself a black coffee and McKenzi and iced cappuccino, and they got a table.

"I can't stay long," said McKenzie, "I have to get my hair done for the party."

"I wish she would do her own hair, it wouldn't take long, and it looked soft, luscious, shiny, and luxurious tonight," Jordan told me.

"Done!" I said, a bit jealous because McKenzie already had great hair.

"What am I saying!" said McKenzie, "I'm doing my own hair tonight, and it won't take long."

"So, McKenzie, tell me what you want to do with your life and stuff," said Jordan.

As McKenzie talked, Jordan telepathically talked to me. "I wish I could hear and understand all McKenzie said while still talking to you."

"Done."

"Good, I wish that anyone that meets my definition of being a nice, friendly person has a blue aura only I can see, and anyone that meets my definition of being mean, stuck up, a bitch or a jerk, has a red aura that only I can see, and people in between are varying shades of purple."

"Done!"

As McKenzie told of her plans to open a chain of boutiques, Jordan looked around. The barrista had a bright blue aura. "Tell me about her situation. I mean I wish I knew all about her."

"Done."

The cute barrista, Angela Moore, was 19 and a sophomore in college. She worked full time and went to school at night four days a week. She was pre-med and wanted to be a pediatrician.

"I wish Angela's IQ was 10 points higher, she easily aces all her classes, and she gets a full scholarship to med school and she remains a nice person and is never mistreated by a man."

"Done!" I said with new found admiration for Jordan.