A writer writing and sipping coffee - Heartbreak

          
For a thousand years, writers have been sitting in coffee shops (and bars) writing stories.

It's early morning, 5am or so, and I am waiting in Starbucks for the Barista to prepare my commuting coffee. I see this fidgety guy at a table, let's call him Joe, and I start to make up a story about him.


Joe’s arms rested on the table holding his cell phone. He looked up and stared out of Starbuck’s window. He watched the sparse number of pedestrians passing by. About what he expected for early morning.

He looked down at the picture of her, the one he secretly took of her in the office. Her hair was up in a bun showing off her beautiful face and cleavage. If there was a flaw, it was her nose, a little bulbous. Could use a bit of reshaping and a wee bit less width.

Joe smiled. At least better looking than the last girl he perused. And what a leech she had been at the end too. Couldn’t accept when it’s over, it’s over.

”Your turn baby,” he whispered to himself.

He touched her picture for the messaging app, his finger lingering on her face, and typed, In Starbucks. Treat you to coffee? Here early. He thumbed the Send button.

He studied the text. His lips squeezed into a frown. The text disappeared with the backspace button.

He typed, Here early. In Starbucks. Join me for coffee? He nodded and pressed Send. Joe looked out the window, watching a man walk down the street.

Joe picked up the newspaper furnished by Starbucks and examined the headline, Congress Considers Tax Bill. He read the first paragraph, then the second. He looked up out the window watching down the street. A couple walked by.

Starbuck’s door opened and he felt a warm breeze flowing in. Joe smiled and turned to look. A stranger. His smile faded as he watched the door close.
Joe picked up his phone, nothing.

Joe stared down the street. Six or seven people walked by before he picked up the newspaper again.

He read the first paragraph of the newspaper, the second and the third. He glanced at his phone. He stared at the newspaper headline and read the first paragraph and partly through the second paragraph. He stopped reading when the paper trembled in his hands.

Joe looked down the street. Strangers passing by. He folded the paper and laid it on the table.

He picked up his phone, “Idiot!” he mumbled and deleted her picture.

Joe stood and proceeded to the counter to order his coffee.



Or, maybe I got it all wrong and he is a better man that I imagined.



Joe’s arms rested on the table holding his cell phone. He looked up and stared out of Starbuck’s window. He sighed, remembering the quarrel weeks ago. He watched the sparse number of pedestrians passing by. About what he expected for early morning. He shook his head. What had he accused her off, deception? treachery? two-faces?

He looked down at her picture on the screen. Joe smiled. Happy days with her vacationing on the south shore. Her hair was up in a bun showing off her beautiful face. If there was a flaw, it was her nose, a little bulbous. Could use a bit of reshaping and a wee bit less width.

”At least we still share a love of Starbuck’s coffee,” he whispered to himself.

He touched her picture for the messaging app, his finger lingering on her face, and typed, In Starbucks. Join me for coffee? Here early. He thumbed the Send button.

He studied the text. His lips squeezed into a frown. The text disappeared with the backspace button.

He typed, Here early. In Starbucks. Treat you to coffee? He nodded.

Joe looked out the window again, watching a man walk down the street. He pressed Send.

Joe picked up the newspaper furnished by Starbucks and examined the headline, Congress Considers Tax Bill. He read the first paragraph, then the second. He stopped reading when the paper trembled in his hands. He looked up out the window watching down the street. A couple walked by.

Starbuck’s door opened and he felt a warm breeze flowing in. Joe smiled and turned to look. A stranger. His smile faded as he watched the door close.
Joe picked up his phone, nothing.

Joe stared down the street. Six or seven people walked by before he picked up the newspaper again.

He read the first paragraph of the newspaper, the second and the third. He glanced at his phone. He stared at the newspaper headline and read the first paragraph and partly through the second paragraph.

Joe looked down the street. Strangers passing by. He folded the paper and laid it on the table.

Putting the cell phone into the breast pocket of his suit, Joe stood and proceeded to the counter to order his coffee.

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