I’d really like to sleep with the barrista at my favourite coffee shop. But if things get awkward I’ll never get to have one of their fantastic lattes ever again.
He sat down in his rocking chair on the porch and simply stared out into the distant sunrise, all the while taking short little sips from his fresh coffee, and quick little puffs from his stale cigarettes.
It really was a completely different world out there, without her by his side.
The girl wearing scandalous exercise clothes gave me no choice, really: I had tapped her shoulder as a friendly reminder that the Starbucks barista was ready to take her order. Exercise Freak bristled, turned toward me, called me all manner of socially unacceptable nicknames, and soon found herself on the floor, having her pretty little face melted off by scalding coffee — Pike’s Peak, to be exact.
Morning coffee brought out all the secrets they had been keeping. “The silence,” he said, “is me thinking.”