The Coffee Shop


I grew up on Ficlets. There, the writer inside me had a home. I'm a teacher now, and a 4th grader who reminds me so much of myself asked, "Why don't you share your writing with us?" So, I come tentatively, searching for a place to stretch my writing muscles again.

John liked coffee shops. They were places to focus, to drown himself in business and caffeine. Except, not this morning.

Laptop open to the annual report, he wondered about the people in their pocket worlds: the three girls--students, a study group; the man, 30-something, incredible focus and a slight facial tick; the others, shrouded in work, conversation, and anonymity.

And then there was the woman. She was world-hopping, too.

It was inevitable, maybe, that their eyes would meet. But her smile--her smile was disarming. If it had been hard to focus before, now it was impossible.

Their eyes met again, and again. Each time, hers dashed toward the wall, then her screen. Her fingers tapped in bursts, then combed through her hair as she glanced up again.

He gave up the report and picked up his Kindle, angling toward her.

He sneezed.

She said, "Bless you."


Silence. Ages of it. When he realized she wouldn't say any more, he stood to leave.

They exchanged smiles again.

Then it was over.


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Comments (1 so far!)

ElshaHawk LoA

ElshaHawk LoA

Superbly awkward. This world-hopping is quite a secret.

  • #1727 Posted 6 years ago
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  • Published 6 years ago.
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