He’s as bitter as my coffee.

She said something witty.

“I don’t think that’s right,” I stared at my coffee some more, admiring my reflection in the black sheen just under the rim. “Coffee’s about more than just bitterness. Besides, there’s no vulgar slang around coffee. You can’t coffee-bag someone. Unless you wanted to abduct them in the best smelling way possible.”

“It’s not tea’s fault that it bears that resemblance. Besides, it doesn’t really. It’s their fault.” She shuddered. “Gamers.”

“You don’t think the British used the gesture in their colonial expeditions? That would explain a lot. Especially why the Americans dumped tea into the harbour, it was probably the closest they could get.”

“No, I don’t, and no, it wouldn’t.” She crossed her arms.

For a moment I missed Dave. He’d never shut down any avenue of conversation, no matter how inane. She started talking again; I nodded along. I wasn’t like Dave that way, but it helped to seem like I was.

There was live noise being made today. The sign advertised it as music, a one-man band. “Must see!” the posters said, “A real artist!” You’d think a talking poster would have attracted more attention, but it was still a bit empty. Probably all the snow outside. I’d walked past several people in the ditch on the way here, but they seemed to like it that way and were building snowmen. Or snowwomen. I didn’t stick around long enough to judge.

The noise-ician made a warbling sound, like one of those old sci-fi shows did when they wanted you to feel eerie and otherworldly. “Makes you wonder if you’re really here,” she said at no one in particular.

“Is that why no one else is here? This is a dream?”

“Huh? No, dummy, why you’re not really here. I just put salt in your coffee and you didn’t even notice.”

I sipped it. “Still tastes good,” I noted, “But you’re supposed to put the salt in when you brew the coffee. Takes away the edge, if you’re opposed to that sort of thing. Now it just tastes stronger, a little forward on my tongue.” I stuck my tongue out and pointed.

The warbling sound tried a few other notes like it was sticking its toes in hot water and burning itself. She slid the salt shaker between her hands a few times. The warbling sound was joined by a few lines of spoken words that might have made sense to some person you might find if you looked hard enough.

“When you need someone to call

Don’t call me

Call that guy Paul

He stole your heart

And my phone”

“He’s as bitter as my coffee,” I commented.

“THAT’S WHAT I SAID EARLIER!”