Ever since I asked we had been silent.
“One more of cup of coffee?”, the waitress smiled, gazing at the jeweler’s box on the table.
“Yes, please”, I answered just to make her leave.
I took the cup for warmth; the coffee was way too bitter for me today.
You scrutinized the people passing by on the opposite side the window.
It was still raining.
“Shall I leave”, I asked, breaking the silence.
I knew you wanted to tell me to go, but you remained as silent as before.
Coffee grew colder; from far away I heard a dishwasher grumbling.
The coffee cups made me think of one of my favorite Bob Dylan songs. Below covered by Frazey Ford.
Friday Fictioneers, the exceptional center for 100 word flash-fiction. Rochelle does an excellent job of keeping it going… and it’s way more habit forming than the blackest of coffee.
September 26, 2018