Coffee Grounds [mayhem]
Posted: 21 Mar 2014, 20:19
Round tables. Black leather upholstery. Gleaming oak stairs. Clover lost track of how much time she spent staring into the little cafe. If it weren’t for the few customers that came and went, she would have glued herself to the front door and its fingerprint-free window. Instead, she forced herself to follow after those customers and enter the light flow of traffic into the dimly lit cafe.
Nothing described the scent of coffee hanging in the air or the hum of the machines producing the liquid. Clover needed coffee as much as she needed the blood in her veins. She had ditched her sister to go to the little cafe, leaving the younger woman to explore a flower shop. Clover had not been the only one in her family to enjoy a decent cup of coffee, but then her mother had a heart attack and her father--she turned her head away from the three stairs that led to the upper portion of the shop. The bar near the front of the shop had open seats, stools that welcomed the loners.
Clover normally took those types of seats. She never thought about what people thought of her or what the world in general thought of her, not when she enjoyed herself. She had other things on her mind. At that moment, she wanted something more than the forgotten stools at the front of the store. She wanted to watch the coffee being made. She wanted a big turkey sandwich with a healthy dose of cheese, bacon, lettuce, and mayo. She wanted greasy potato chips.
The woman adjusted the strap of her laptop satchel and turned back toward the three oak stairs. When another customer entered and ascended the stairs, Clover followed. She passed a couple of potted plants, fake or real, and took one of two tables for her own. No one had a right to share her table, not with the way she dominated the tabletop and position the remaining two chairs. She crammed one chair into the corner and propped her boot-clad feet onto the other chair.
“What can I get you today?” The barista didn’t have to move from behind the bar, nor did the man have to shout. He looked happy enough, though not thrilled, to be working in the cafe. He had smudges all along his apron and his hair had dabs of whipped cream and a spot of caramel.
“Black coffee. And can I get a turkey sandwich with no tomato? Oh, and a bag of chips. Greasy chips.” She looked away when she spoke, more focused on freeing her laptop from her bag and plugging the cord into the wall outlet. All around the shop, there were others just like her, but the other laptop lovers had more important things to do than play card games and board games with people seven-hundred miles away.
Nothing described the scent of coffee hanging in the air or the hum of the machines producing the liquid. Clover needed coffee as much as she needed the blood in her veins. She had ditched her sister to go to the little cafe, leaving the younger woman to explore a flower shop. Clover had not been the only one in her family to enjoy a decent cup of coffee, but then her mother had a heart attack and her father--she turned her head away from the three stairs that led to the upper portion of the shop. The bar near the front of the shop had open seats, stools that welcomed the loners.
Clover normally took those types of seats. She never thought about what people thought of her or what the world in general thought of her, not when she enjoyed herself. She had other things on her mind. At that moment, she wanted something more than the forgotten stools at the front of the store. She wanted to watch the coffee being made. She wanted a big turkey sandwich with a healthy dose of cheese, bacon, lettuce, and mayo. She wanted greasy potato chips.
The woman adjusted the strap of her laptop satchel and turned back toward the three oak stairs. When another customer entered and ascended the stairs, Clover followed. She passed a couple of potted plants, fake or real, and took one of two tables for her own. No one had a right to share her table, not with the way she dominated the tabletop and position the remaining two chairs. She crammed one chair into the corner and propped her boot-clad feet onto the other chair.
“What can I get you today?” The barista didn’t have to move from behind the bar, nor did the man have to shout. He looked happy enough, though not thrilled, to be working in the cafe. He had smudges all along his apron and his hair had dabs of whipped cream and a spot of caramel.
“Black coffee. And can I get a turkey sandwich with no tomato? Oh, and a bag of chips. Greasy chips.” She looked away when she spoke, more focused on freeing her laptop from her bag and plugging the cord into the wall outlet. All around the shop, there were others just like her, but the other laptop lovers had more important things to do than play card games and board games with people seven-hundred miles away.