NaPoWriMo 15
Sunday Morning, Coffee Shop
The rain beads and rolls off the hood of an SUV parked in front of the coffee shop. A man and a woman sit in oversized chairs facing different directions, with nothing but their big lattes between them. The thick ground aroma floats into the noisy air. They are no greedier for love than their disposable cups, which she cradles like a distant memory. Maybe they were the type of couple who would sit at home on Sunday mornings sipping Colombian roast, his head resting on her soft sweet lap all day, the couple whose life once could have passed for mine. But on this day, they sit side by side in their separate hemispheres, until the dregs are all that’s left. They walk to their car, into the rain. And that’s where our stories end.
The rain beads and rolls off the hood of an SUV parked in front of the coffee shop. A man and a woman sit in oversized chairs facing different directions, with nothing but their big lattes between them. The thick ground aroma floats into the noisy air. They are no greedier for love than their disposable cups, which she cradles like a distant memory. Maybe they were the type of couple who would sit at home on Sunday mornings sipping Colombian roast, his head resting on her soft sweet lap all day, the couple whose life once could have passed for mine. But on this day, they sit side by side in their separate hemispheres, until the dregs are all that’s left. They walk to their car, into the rain. And that’s where our stories end.
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