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Weekly Contest #368
It's a day vividly burned into my memory. It was a Tuesday morning. From a corner booth, I took a sip from a steaming mug—it was a little burnt, but I wasn't really there for the coffee. I was there for the woman who served it. Marilyn. A bright woman, mid-twenties. She hadn't batted an eye when I ordered my coffee; she hadn't thought me anything out of the ordinary. No one does—I'm just an unassuming old man. I watched as she poured and stirred and brewed each order as it came in with elegance and precision. She addressed each customer with...
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