She stood in line with him, fidgeting. She knew what she would order,
one sugar-free, carmel macchiato venti, non-fat with an extra espresso.

That wasn’t what was bothering her. Nor was it the fact that she had been there to get coffee every day that week at 3 o’clock in the morning that had her doing her nervous ticks. She tried hopefully to re-crack her knuckles to no avail. It was him. She did not want to spend another minute with him, and the line of late-night studiers and hungover, sleep-deprived college students in front of her looked as though it would last at least another seven. She bit her lip and chewed on the dry part.

She could feel his glare. His fat fingers rubbed the leather edges of his wallet. She could tell he was thinking about his obligation to pay for her drink. That was the last thing she wanted; in no way did she ever want to feel in debt to the greasy man.

She slipped one foot out of its shoe and then the other, kicked them to the side, then ran back home.
not today!