I love the person I am when I converse with you in my head
She sat reading her thick novel with a look of placid amusement on her face. Leaned against the wall with her legs crossed against the cherry wood chair, she brushed aside a strand of brown hairas she turned a page. "Who is John Gault?" She pondered, gazing at her surroundings. A bemused smile crossed her face as the woman playing cards at the diagonal table quietly mouthed thw words of an unfamiliar and peculiar 1920s sounding song that drifted from the celing.
Everyone, it seems, orders a caramel mochaeto. That is what she intended to order that night she mistakenly ordered another odd concoction.
"You're brave," the man behind the counter commented as she doubtfully ordered a mocha chai-late, a drink currently non-existant.
She took a seat at the same small table across from the counter by the wall. She didn't look up from her novel until the man appeared with her specially made drink.
"If it's absolutly terrible, I'll make you something else," he offered.
"Thanks," she responded without intentions of accepting the offer.
He hesitated to leave as she brought the coffee cup to her lips.
"You look a bit nervous," he obeserved. He watched for her reaction as she took a sip.
"It's interesting," she managed. "Definatly different."
The taste was an odd mixture of mocha, apiced apple cider, espresso, and something else unidentifiable. Not completly revolting. She took a few more slow sips at he beverage as she returned to her thin paper pages.
He returned about fifteen minutes later. "Let me make you something else. When I glance up, I keep seeing your reaction. You look tortured."
She laughed and smiled at the exageration, still reluctant to accept the offer.
"What else can I make you?"
Having been drifting to thoughts of her usual Vanilla Creme Frappuccino Grande, she gave in. Minutes later, he placed the new beverage before her.
"Hopefully you'll enjoy this one. It can at least wash the horrible taste out of your mouth."
She assured him she would and began drinking enjoyably. Finishing with no problem as she read intently, she continued to sit, re-examining the repeated question "Who is John Gault?"
She looked up, interupted from her thoughts. Her eyelids had grown more ponderous, yet she had not realized exactly how late it was.
"Ready to go?" He asked her.
"Who is John Gault?"
Everyone, it seems, orders a caramel mochaeto. That is what she intended to order that night she mistakenly ordered another odd concoction.
"You're brave," the man behind the counter commented as she doubtfully ordered a mocha chai-late, a drink currently non-existant.
She took a seat at the same small table across from the counter by the wall. She didn't look up from her novel until the man appeared with her specially made drink.
"If it's absolutly terrible, I'll make you something else," he offered.
"Thanks," she responded without intentions of accepting the offer.
He hesitated to leave as she brought the coffee cup to her lips.
"You look a bit nervous," he obeserved. He watched for her reaction as she took a sip.
"It's interesting," she managed. "Definatly different."
The taste was an odd mixture of mocha, apiced apple cider, espresso, and something else unidentifiable. Not completly revolting. She took a few more slow sips at he beverage as she returned to her thin paper pages.
He returned about fifteen minutes later. "Let me make you something else. When I glance up, I keep seeing your reaction. You look tortured."
She laughed and smiled at the exageration, still reluctant to accept the offer.
"What else can I make you?"
Having been drifting to thoughts of her usual Vanilla Creme Frappuccino Grande, she gave in. Minutes later, he placed the new beverage before her.
"Hopefully you'll enjoy this one. It can at least wash the horrible taste out of your mouth."
She assured him she would and began drinking enjoyably. Finishing with no problem as she read intently, she continued to sit, re-examining the repeated question "Who is John Gault?"
She looked up, interupted from her thoughts. Her eyelids had grown more ponderous, yet she had not realized exactly how late it was.
"Ready to go?" He asked her.
"Who is John Gault?"