The text message read, “I pick up Hannah at 3. Until then, I will be having coffee at the shop across from her school.?”
He looked at his watch. 2:30. It would take five minutes to get there. He had to leave for work no later than 3:00. She knew that. He shook his head.
The car hummed along city streets, the smell of slow cooked beans wafting from the back seat. Janet had planned a pot luck for staff meeting, and his beans were always a favorite. Simple really, slow cook them, super slow with lots of ketchup.
Ketchup made things taste better.
She was sitting outside with the autumn leaves (strewn across a wooden table that was bolted to the ground). When his car pulled in, she stood up; a half wave. She’d worn his favorite jeans, the right leg too tight against her calf. Steam rising from two cups of coffee blew to the east; a storm coming. He took a deep breath, opened the car door and walked towards her. The diamond she still wore winked back at him, conspicuous and violently cruel.
It’s Thursday. I’m a bit melancholy, and I’m listening to Wilco. I should make better choices. What are you doing?
Oh yeah, tell me what you think of this tiny tale, please.