Coffee Spills

What I hear and see and think about at the coffee shops I patronize.
Brisk. Fresh. Well-balanced. Occasional nutty and bittersweet overtones.
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Saturday, November 13, 2004

Conversations in a Coffee Shop

A short piece of fiction begins and ends in a coffee shop--

"I walk into the corner coffee shop, order a cappuccino, and sit at a table
by the window. I reach into my purse, pull out a small notebook and write:
girls serving coffee—young and slim with eyes like breath mints. I sigh and
slurp the foam off of the top, staring out the window until I see him
hurrying towards the entrance, looking rushed. My stomach does a casual
flip, then lands at the soles of my feet, heavy as a stone. I stand up and
wave him over, even though the shop is empty enough that he sees me right
away. He holds up an impatient finger, telling me to wait. As he goes to get
his coffee, I sit back down, feeling vaguely discouraged and somehow wrong; like a dark hair in a dish of pudding." Read the story here.

Lisa LaTourette-Pershan wrote this for the literary e-zine, The Moonwort Review, issue 8.


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