Five foot two, twirling a red umbrella, self-proclaimed oracle, Rock Star danced in the parking lot drizzle while on a cigarette break.
Soft and sweet, a pretty young blonde woman stepped the restaurant looking unsure.
Three large gents grabbed a table near the door while discussing coffee black verses with cream as if it were a headline in the morning news. Big guy with a full beard, cut off jeans, and braided hair to the middle of his back fiddled with the blue bandanna folded over his eyebrows and swore French press was the best.
The fellow with close-cropped hair and lobster red bald spot wiped his glasses carefully paused thoughtfully before adding, “A dash of salt brings the flavor of the coffee to perfection.” A glop of keys dangled from the belt loop of his Bobby Hill denim shorts; Rock Star eyed the glop as she poured the coffee.
“Y’all got enough keys there?” She shot him her quirky smile. He grinned back as if they’d just exchanged a private joke.
“What’ll ya have for breakfast?” She asked with a bright smile.
With muscles bulging, a Captain America Shield under Trust me, I’m a Superhero on a tight tee, the younger man in the group announced,
”French roast is the best. Add a little sugar, cream, put it all together for the best morning ever.”
“Excuse me, I have to take this call; it’s my girlfriend.”
To be continued…..
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