The Coffee Shop
Hey!
It's been a while. Lots going on but I will not bore you with my life's events. Instead, I will burden you with some fiction. Please be kind critics :-)
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It’s Thursday evening, March 11, 2010.
He sits in a corner mindlessly observing customers as they file in and out. The sun finally grudgingly takes a bow, its warmth lingers long after it’s gone. Three girls stroll in, giggling and elbowing each other, something about their gaiety stirs emotions of déjà-vu.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee sips through the air, Robusta or Arabic? It’s hard to decipher. Two men at the table to his left stand up to leave, one in a dark suit, the other in a light blue shirt and a red tie. They shake hands and head towards the door. A man in a pink shirt with folded sleeves, sits reading a newspaper, slurping on a cup of hot tea. A woman and a teenage girl sit in the centre of the room, the girl fiddles with her fingers, fixated in the woman’s gaze. In the other corner a man and a lady stare at each other in amazement, their knees involved in a similar contest. This is his favorite wind down zone.
He looks at his watch, its 6:02 pm. He shuffles in his seat barely noticing the waiter standing to his left.
“What can I get you sir?”
He plays with the keys in his pocket reminded that he needs to service the car on saturday morning before his tennis match. His forward stroke is awesome if he says so himself, he will soon be challenging his trainer. If he could only apply the same wisdom to his career. He is on a bumpy ride or no ride at all, there is a road block he can’t get passed. How long will it take to get to the top? What strategy? What connections? Should he consider an MBA at this point?
“Excuse me sir, are you ready to order?”
He suddenly notices the waiter and jerks as though the waiter just sprouted out of the ground.
“I’m sorry! A glass of passion fruit juice please”
He shuffles his feet, scans through the newspaper and throws it back on the table; Pathetic stories, poorly constructed sentences, unnerving grammar, looks like the writers are asleep and in a rush to publish anything. Irritated he turns away, he pretends it’s not there, it’s not his.
“Here is your juice sir! Do you want anything to go with that?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Do you want to order a bite?”
“Oh! No, no! Thank you, David!”
The waiter hurries a long, thrilled to be recognized by name.
He wishes for a country where aid is channeled towards constructing lasting roads, where libraries are filled with story books and children can dream, having their imaginations running wild with possibilities. Where leaders think more about the people and less about themselves.
His phone rings, it’s Peter his boss - not a welcome call but he takes it anyway. Something about tomorrow’s presentation and how he needs to add data on customer satisfaction. The directors are soothed by figures, never interested in the disgruntled employees. He makes a note to beef it up when he gets home.
He glances at his watch, it's 6:45pm. His phone rings again. It’s Sheila! His heart jogs faster, he clears his throat, leans back in the chair and presses the green button.
“Hello!”
“Hi Tony, sorry I’m running late, got stuck in traffic, but I’m just round the corner, I’ll be there shortly”
“That’s alright! I’m here!”
“Ok! See you in a bit”
She hangs up.
He smiles, adjusts his belt, looks at his shoes - black with a rumor of brown from the dusty streets. They are comfortable, loyal for 2 years running, still looking good as new and easy to clean that’s why he would buy Clarks any day.
He looks up and there she is, radiant as a sun flower. He plays her in slow motion. She walks towards him with a big smile, her pearly whites set perfectly. Her burgundy shoes have a slight heel, firming her calves as she steps forward. The anklet on her left leg jiggles; he can almost hear the alleluia chorus. Her ebony skin, moist and shimmery is exposed, up and up and just above her knees. Before he can reenact a scene from Men in Black the act is cut! It’s covered with a pencil skirt, sketching her at all the right angles and her blouse a shade of electric indigo.
Oh wow!
He stands up.
Her hair is held up in a puff with a few stray strands teasing her neck.
How does a man survive this? He wonders.
She puts her arms around his neck, his hands find their way and settle around her waist. He wishes the deejay could press the pause button on life. Let this moment last forever, oh baby I love your ways, all the love songs playing in his head in nonstop sequence.
She smells oh so sweet – strawberries, peaches, fresh flowers – its crazy!
“She’s coming home with me tonight! We are going to pop some champagne and make the night last forever!” He thinks.
He wants to tell her, but he will not.
His eyes stray to her lips and he is ushered into paradise - forget purgatory and what not.
They talk about her favorite food, his dream car, career goals, their parents, siblings, frustrations, office politics, traffic and favorite authors.
It’s 10:00pm.
“I’ve got to leave now. I have a book to finish before class tomorrow” she says.
He pays the bill, leaves a tip for David and they walk out of the coffee shop, his hands in his pockets.
He drives home, trying to keep his mind on the road, begging his body to shut up. He forces his mind to think about the poor kids going without food, he takes a cold shower then sits down to edit the presentation for tomorrow’s meeting.
THE END! OR, MAYBE NOT.
How can a young person stay on the path of purity? By living according to your word. I seek you with all my heart; do not let me stray from your commands. I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you. Praise be to you, LORD; teach me your decrees. With my lips I recount all the laws that come from your mouth. I rejoice in following your statutes as one rejoices in great riches. I meditate on your precept and consider your ways. I delight in your decrees; I will not neglect your word.
It's been a while. Lots going on but I will not bore you with my life's events. Instead, I will burden you with some fiction. Please be kind critics :-)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s Thursday evening, March 11, 2010.
He sits in a corner mindlessly observing customers as they file in and out. The sun finally grudgingly takes a bow, its warmth lingers long after it’s gone. Three girls stroll in, giggling and elbowing each other, something about their gaiety stirs emotions of déjà-vu.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee sips through the air, Robusta or Arabic? It’s hard to decipher. Two men at the table to his left stand up to leave, one in a dark suit, the other in a light blue shirt and a red tie. They shake hands and head towards the door. A man in a pink shirt with folded sleeves, sits reading a newspaper, slurping on a cup of hot tea. A woman and a teenage girl sit in the centre of the room, the girl fiddles with her fingers, fixated in the woman’s gaze. In the other corner a man and a lady stare at each other in amazement, their knees involved in a similar contest. This is his favorite wind down zone.
He looks at his watch, its 6:02 pm. He shuffles in his seat barely noticing the waiter standing to his left.
“What can I get you sir?”
He plays with the keys in his pocket reminded that he needs to service the car on saturday morning before his tennis match. His forward stroke is awesome if he says so himself, he will soon be challenging his trainer. If he could only apply the same wisdom to his career. He is on a bumpy ride or no ride at all, there is a road block he can’t get passed. How long will it take to get to the top? What strategy? What connections? Should he consider an MBA at this point?
“Excuse me sir, are you ready to order?”
He suddenly notices the waiter and jerks as though the waiter just sprouted out of the ground.
“I’m sorry! A glass of passion fruit juice please”
He shuffles his feet, scans through the newspaper and throws it back on the table; Pathetic stories, poorly constructed sentences, unnerving grammar, looks like the writers are asleep and in a rush to publish anything. Irritated he turns away, he pretends it’s not there, it’s not his.
“Here is your juice sir! Do you want anything to go with that?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Do you want to order a bite?”
“Oh! No, no! Thank you, David!”
The waiter hurries a long, thrilled to be recognized by name.
He wishes for a country where aid is channeled towards constructing lasting roads, where libraries are filled with story books and children can dream, having their imaginations running wild with possibilities. Where leaders think more about the people and less about themselves.
His phone rings, it’s Peter his boss - not a welcome call but he takes it anyway. Something about tomorrow’s presentation and how he needs to add data on customer satisfaction. The directors are soothed by figures, never interested in the disgruntled employees. He makes a note to beef it up when he gets home.
He glances at his watch, it's 6:45pm. His phone rings again. It’s Sheila! His heart jogs faster, he clears his throat, leans back in the chair and presses the green button.
“Hello!”
“Hi Tony, sorry I’m running late, got stuck in traffic, but I’m just round the corner, I’ll be there shortly”
“That’s alright! I’m here!”
“Ok! See you in a bit”
She hangs up.
He smiles, adjusts his belt, looks at his shoes - black with a rumor of brown from the dusty streets. They are comfortable, loyal for 2 years running, still looking good as new and easy to clean that’s why he would buy Clarks any day.
He looks up and there she is, radiant as a sun flower. He plays her in slow motion. She walks towards him with a big smile, her pearly whites set perfectly. Her burgundy shoes have a slight heel, firming her calves as she steps forward. The anklet on her left leg jiggles; he can almost hear the alleluia chorus. Her ebony skin, moist and shimmery is exposed, up and up and just above her knees. Before he can reenact a scene from Men in Black the act is cut! It’s covered with a pencil skirt, sketching her at all the right angles and her blouse a shade of electric indigo.
Oh wow!
He stands up.
Her hair is held up in a puff with a few stray strands teasing her neck.
How does a man survive this? He wonders.
She puts her arms around his neck, his hands find their way and settle around her waist. He wishes the deejay could press the pause button on life. Let this moment last forever, oh baby I love your ways, all the love songs playing in his head in nonstop sequence.
She smells oh so sweet – strawberries, peaches, fresh flowers – its crazy!
“She’s coming home with me tonight! We are going to pop some champagne and make the night last forever!” He thinks.
He wants to tell her, but he will not.
His eyes stray to her lips and he is ushered into paradise - forget purgatory and what not.
They talk about her favorite food, his dream car, career goals, their parents, siblings, frustrations, office politics, traffic and favorite authors.
It’s 10:00pm.
“I’ve got to leave now. I have a book to finish before class tomorrow” she says.
He pays the bill, leaves a tip for David and they walk out of the coffee shop, his hands in his pockets.
He drives home, trying to keep his mind on the road, begging his body to shut up. He forces his mind to think about the poor kids going without food, he takes a cold shower then sits down to edit the presentation for tomorrow’s meeting.
THE END! OR, MAYBE NOT.
How can a young person stay on the path of purity? By living according to your word. I seek you with all my heart; do not let me stray from your commands. I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you. Praise be to you, LORD; teach me your decrees. With my lips I recount all the laws that come from your mouth. I rejoice in following your statutes as one rejoices in great riches. I meditate on your precept and consider your ways. I delight in your decrees; I will not neglect your word.
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