FLASH FICTION
Coffee Shop on W 54th
December 1st Microfiction (Coffee)
The aroma of roasted beans fills the air in the little coffee shop on W 54th. Outside, I was freezing my nuts off, but inside, I could smell dust burning off a heater. It was almost uncomfortable waiting in line. People are lined to the door like waiting in line for a pump to get gas. Some do not understand where the line ends and begins. This place is always busy at six in the morning, like we’ve all got somewhere else better to be. I see steam pouring out of the little hole in the plastic lid at the same time as I feel the warmth from the cup. The taste is bitter, but I haven’t had a chance to sweeten it up. I doubt I’ll bother adding my condiments when the room is so full. Do they call them condiments when you’re talking coffee? Sure, they put them out just like a burger joint puts out mayonnaise, ketchup, and mustard. Even a hot dog place has little micro bags of sauerkraut.
As I’ve just grown frustrated enough to leave, I notice the brunette in the corner drinking from a white mug. Her black jacket with fur collar is draped over the back of the chair. I can’t keep my eyes off her shoulders and what I call the hubris of the female. It can be 10 degrees outside on a Saturday night, but you can be damn sure the tight black miniskirt will still be worn. She’s smiling as she blows air on the rim of her cup. I don’t recognize her, but I wish I had. Her perfect brown eyes are like beacons on a foggy night, pushing me to forgive what I call her silly self-confidence on such a cold and miserable fucking morning. I’d sit near her if I didn’t have to be at work right now. Just in case there is a chance for shared words.
Thanks for reading
RaNcH
