I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she prepared the coffee machines. She disappeared behind the counter then moved around her work area like a puppet on a string. It was as if each movement was controlled by a puppeteer — like she wasn’t even human. I was the one in control now. I reread her reviews to remind myself why I was here. I burned with rage, but I waited.

Minutes later she took my order, glanced down at the table. “What do you have there?” she asked, picking up the pages.

“Your latest reviews,” I responded.

“What are you talking about?”

“You gave me a two-star rating this week. You don’t remember?”

“Hey, what are you doing with this stuff?” she asked, leafing through the printed pages.

“You should know,” I answered, shoving more of them in her face. “Here, I’ve printed your reviews for the past two years.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“You know me,” I answered, standing and towering over her.

“What?”

“Why did you stop responding to my messages? I thought we were friends!”