When I Heard Michael Jackson Had Died

Fresh Pot coffee on N Mississippi, Portland, OR at 3:12pm.

A large black woman, ragged and seemingly disturbed, jaunts in through the main entrance, stops to look around, and boisterously states,

"Michael Jackson's deead."

Everyone looked her way.

"He dead," she reemphasized.

A small "oh my god" is released from the corner and the barista lets out a, "no way, google it." I look over to discover that the barista is commanding me to hit that google. I do, and it is confirmed that he is in the hospital, but nothing else. I report my findings immediately to the coffeehouse. No confirmation that he is dead.

"Bull snakes!" the woman yells, "he dead."

After poking around a little more on the internet I find that this is all true. The cardiac arrest, the hospital, and the death is a reality. The coffee shop sits in an awkward silence for a few seconds, except for the large black woman, who is outside stopping strangers on the street and saying, "Michael Jackson's dead...he dead."

A barista behind the counter simply moves down the bar toward the end, by the computer. She clicks once or twice and the room is hit with the intro to "Thriller." The room goes back to work, satisfied, and the woman slowly walks out nodding her head.

"He dead now," she says.