Mr. Monroe and his apples

His name is Monroe. 

Everyday he comes into the cafe with his metal mug and meanders over to the counter. Holding his mug he looks for me through squinted eyes. He only wants me to pour his coffee. I saw him through the corner of my eye. My  fellow barista shouts, "Hey, your boyfriend is here!" I rolled my eyes and walked over to the counter. "Refill today?" I know it isnt really a refill because this is his first venture here today. Water from his eyes streamed down his wrinkled face. His hands were shaking as he managed to twist off the lid. "Hey darlin' how are you today?" He reached into his bag and pulls out a shinny red apple. "I brought you an apple today." He managed to sputter out as if I didn't know what it was. I gratefully took the apple and sat it on the counter. He recommended that I wash it off because they (whoever "they" may be) do not wash the dirt off. He brings me an apple everyday. I guess you can say that I've started an apple collection. When he leaves, the apples go off into a corner by the espresso bar. I never eat the apples. It isn't that I don't like apples or that I don't think it is considerate that he brings me one, but where are they from? I asked him where he gets his apples. "Well from the farm of course!" The farm? In manhattan? I did not ask which farm or if he grows them himself. I think it flatters him that I even take the apple. 

For some reason I feel sorry for Monroe. I've seen him at the Bank of America down the street when I go to make my deposits after work. He heads over there after he leaves the coffee shop and hangs out there all day. One afternoon at the bank he was wondering around checking out the magazines they have available to read on the shelves. After I deposited my loads of money, I noticed he had made his way over to the teller. "Now Mr. Monroe, am I going to have to call your wife? Yes, I have a boyfriend." The woman had a look on her face as if she was trying nicely to make him leave her alone. So I wasn't the only one he was giving apples to! My mind wandered and I began to place him into a time where men wore pen stripped suits and woman wore fancy hats and mink scarves. Everything was black and white and everyone said "Darlin' and sweetie" like in the old movies. I pictured him as a young Clark Gable and smoking a cigarette hitting on the ladies. Now he is wondering the streets of Manhattan hitting on young woman and giving them apples. 

Who is Monroe and what does he do at the bank? Where does he get his apples? I will ask him tomorrow.