Too Early For Work

Latte on barFrosty the Snowman. Again. It’s a different version. A curious choice for early March.

I head to the row of window-side tables. The three other customers in the shop, each in their corner, with a plate of crumbs off to one side, and an empty cup behind their screens do the scroll-scroll-type of social media users.

I open my analog notebook, enter the date and wait for the crooner to finish his jolly intrusion.

A choir takes over the spreading of Christmas cheer. “The season’s been and gone!”

I write a line about thinking of other places for my morning coffee. I cross it out. I play with words in my head. I look for a way to describe how I chose the coffee shop. Avoiding sock juice. Can I work that in?

The music intrudes. I try to ignore it.

Why did I think that closing my eyes would help tune it out?

I pick up my cup; It’s empty. I vacuum the foam from its walls. Another carol starts. I look at my phone; 38 more minutes.

Bells! “Really!” I leave.

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