Coffee cup

Why haven’t you written for so long?
Why don’t you just do it?
Why don’t you just write what you know?

It was a constant.

Those voices in his head sure did go on.
The voices in the coffee shop went on too.
But that was actually OK.

It was nice to be around people with a smile on their face.

The week had been long. Too long.
How is it that a week, he thought,
(which unequivocally has exactly the same amount of hours
as the week that came before it)
could differ from one moon to the next?

The coffee was sweet.
No sugar, but with a shot of vanilla syrup.
It was Friday.

Treats are OK on Friday.

He took another sip.
It was good.
A little too hot still, but good.

Snippets of conversation.

A regular that was no longer that.
Their favourite cake was coffee and walnut.
Kerry didn’t have that.

She wasn’t going to make it for someone that no longer came.

Shots of laughter from 5 guys.
They talk as if they’ve not seen each other for years.
Their shirts are identical.

A challenger approaches.

An old stick wobbling in one hand.
The other, hidden, dragging something behind.
A wife. Her body frail but her smile wide.

The tables are full and the coffee still hot.

His sips turned to gulps and he begin to sweat.
The saccharine, molten java cascaded down his throat.
He could feel her smile hit the floor as their eyes, aided by 2 inch thick glass, survey the scene.

They turn to leave.

Very, very slowly.

“Here,” he chirped, with a smile that said “I’ll even clear my cup away”.
“Take my seat.”
The tall figure mumbles something back, and clanks his stick against the table.

We know what you’re doing.
That coffee was too hot.
Did you remember your hat?

It was a constant.
Like tinnitus but with muppets.
And now he fancied some cake.

Coffee cup

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