The Clash, an '05 Ford, and Cold Coffee

Avatar Author: soup i write stuff sometimes. Read Bio

The waiter poured my coffee, offering a consolation sigh. However, he didn’t touch the cup sitting across from me, ordered preemptively about 30 minutes ago. Of course, it’s cold now. He could very well offer to serve a new cup, but why waste the drugged hot water?

I cast my gaze across the diner, it was mostly empty. 9:30 on a Friday night. Most people have better things to do, better places to eat. I got here at 8:50, hoping to get two cups for us so we wouldn’t have to waste much time lingering about while we waited for drinks. Though, the time waiting could be time spent making idle talk about the menu. I was never too good at conversations.

The two waiters chatted in monotonous voices. Probably not much older than 20, probably had other places to be. Or maybe not.

I eventually asked for the check, to which my server declined to give me. Told me something about knowing what it’s like. I thanked him, but tried to ignore what he was talking about.

It was a long night

View this story's details


Oh no! This story doesn't have a prequel. Want to fill in the blanks and write one?


Oh no! This story doesn't have a sequel. Want to fill in the blanks and write one?

Comments (1 so far!)

  1. Avatar Brebelles {LoA}

    That would be the worst feeling..