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ContemplativeI went to sleep at seven something, so I ended up waking at midnight. I grumble at this, knowing I'll have to force myself to sleep again to go to school in the morning. Disregarding, I push the power button on the PC, listening to the buzz of the fan. It cuts cleanly through the silence of the night, my roommate didn't switch on music to break up the pressing quiet. I grimace for a moment upon running my fingers through my hair and vow to take a long shower after a small web browsing session. The grime of the day had decided to settle in my hair and that combined with my neurotic tossing and turning resulted in an unpleasant feeling on my head. I know I'm still half asleep by this feeling of being stuck to the ground. Not just stuck, gravity does that, but stuck. Stuck like my body feels heavier. During the day I'm light, quick, nothing weighs me down. But after the hindrance of sleep, I feel weighty, it's suddenly a chore to get to one place from another.
I think faintly on finding o
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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