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 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.