Coffee Cup

The wood floor feels warm through my shoes. There’s no impact in my feet as I walk up to the coffee bar. It’s late. The barista is wearing weariness in his eyes and the brown splotches of a long day on his apron. He’s about to count the petty cash and close out the register.

“I’ll have a cup of regular coffee” I say at the down turned hat resting atop his frizzy black hair. He perks up and scratches his neck but gives no response. No one listens to me anymore.

I watch him closely, unable to stray an eye. The pain of his own weight hangs on his movements. The gravity of another day is lengthening his forlorn expression as if each passing second were another drop in the waterfall of time he’d rather not cascade along with.

I turn to see Juliana. Beautiful and silent. A man is touching her leg and whispering lies in her ear. I move toward their table but uncontrollably begin to fade into an abyss of light. One of my tears drops in her cup. But by the time she sees it splash and looks up I’m already gone.

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