She smiled and doused her cigarette inside a half-empty paper cup. “No, really I don’t mind. You look harmless enough, but you really did scare the hell out of me. You really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “You alone?”

“Yeah, most customers usually show up between seven-thirty and eight.”

“Yes, that’s perfect,” I said.

“Huh?”

I held up my laptop and portfolio. “I’ll enjoy a little extra quiet time. I’m a Ficly writer.”

“Oh really? We get lots of writers here. Most of them write like crap.”

“I suppose they do,” I answered, forcing a smile.

“Yes, most are just awful! Believe me, I know.”

“How do you know?” I whispered. She didn’t hear the question.

“Listen, you’ll have to wait a few minutes on the coffee. The machines need to be started up and it takes awhile. Just have a seat.”

“I don’t mind,” I said, sitting down and placing the printed pages of her Ficly reviews on my table. The review on top was her scathing critique of my most recent Ficly story.