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The Coffee Shop

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The aroma of aged coffee beans and freshly printed newspapers fills the air as you pull the door open. You decided to visit the new cafe that opened on 5th. The counter is on the left of the door. It's a large 'L 'shape and the hallway to the back room is covered with a curtain of tiny lanterns. They're made of this white paper, but at the moment they're not illuminated, later tonight they'll provide vital light. You turn your head to see the chairs. And the tables. And the people occupying these light wood chairs. The ground beneath them is a cool concrete. You look back to the counter. You walk toward the barista that's working hurriedly. She smiles, flashing her coffee stained teeth. You look toward the chalk board menu, already knowing what you want, but not wanting to be rude. You look back down, looking into her eyes. They're the color of the sea after a storm. When the foam washes up on the pearl sand.


"A large iced coffee please,” You say.


"Anything else,” she says slightly disconcerted.


"Not that's it,” you say reassuringly, knowing nothing will help.


Her hair is up in a pony tail, the pieces not long enough to fit in, hang in front of her face, the long brown strands framed her and set her features. You think she's quite pretty. You step toward the side to wait for your drink. Once it's placed on the small counter, you grab it and find a place to sit down. You sit in the corner near the window. Looking out into the sea of metal and flesh. Cars and humans fill every empty space. The organized chaos of New York. You take a look to a smaller version of that inside this small coffee shop. The people getting along with their day. The man in the opposite corner reading yesterday's newspaper and sipping a latte. The two middle age women in the middle of the room, chatting, wearing more layers than they need. The girl that's been scrolling on her phone for the past 23 minutes. Barely looking up to nibble at her croissant. You sigh and look back out the window. You take a sip of your coffee and smile. This beautiful bustling city is a living breathing thing. The millions that call this place home are a part of this, If not crazy, thriving environment. The buildings, and the lovely humans that occupy them. The hurried civilians that jog the streets. The cars and busses and trucks, speaking a language of honking horns and yelling. It seems wild and daunting at first but you take a closer look and you see each uncontrollable piece of the puzzle is actually part of a well oiled machine. You look down at the smooth floor and think, I love this city. Yes this city is one that won't soon be forgotten. And you have the great fortune of living here. Your still looking down at your brown shoes when he walks in. The first thing he notices is the newspaper stand near the back. Contrary to what you saw first. He orders a hot cappuccino and sits down in the table next to the croissant girl. You look back up and see him. Your heart stops, you feel like all time and space has suddenly stopped. He is perfect in very way. You know you can't go another waking moment without knowing him.




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