July 16, 2018
THREE: AMERICANO X VANILLA LATTE
Everyone was surrendering, to the ticking time...
for the unfailing rain that repulse to cease.
And I was still trapped between my vanilla latte and his americano.
Americano.
Caffè Americano--iced.
the ice cubes were all almost gone.
I finally conceded my disguise in a book and reached the glass of vanilla latte.
He budged a little and looked up at me.
"Sweet?"
the very question he disserted was thing that didn't need an answer, out of all.
"No." I answered.
I was honest. It wasn't sweet, the ice cubes were all melted away and diluted my should-be-sweet vanilla latte.
I guess he was thirsty after saying stupid question and took himself his americano.
"Coffee should taste like this, 70 percent bitter, and sour the rest."
I turned away as he made another intentional eye-contact.
and I cursed.
to the pouring rain.
I watched half of him through the reflection of the dampen window, he was then leaning back and observed things outside. I just noticed that he wore a pretty brown velvet coat, looking warm. And he put his deerskin primaloft gloves on the table, in custard? and sure he matched them with his coat.
The afternoon was well-spent.
in awkward silence and fleeting ungainly eye-contact.
