I wrote this as practice……
Sometimes it’s quiet. In the morning, I share my seat with a bowl of perfect oatmeal or a corn muffin depending on my mood paired with a Grande Pike’s Place with room for soy and an immeasurable amount of sugar. Around 12 o’clock is when things begin to pick up. The low rumblings transform into a steady din of baristas shouting back names and the customers trying to order a Make-ee-chat-oh (Macchiato for those of us well versed in the inner workings of the menu).
His slippers wiggled as he grumbled into the phone. His voice was loud and rough but not angry. Warm and comforting but as prickly and harsh as the salt and pepper stubble that graced his heavily wrinkled but prominent cheekbones.
Instagram became a happy distraction as she took a few quiet moments to sip her Vanilla Macchiato. He needs to be picked up from therapy soon, she thought as she wiggled her leg to keep warm from the chilly air conditioner. Her nervous habit of twirling her hair one strand at a time gave away her extensive to do list.
Fresh from soccer practice, the three girls revealed their inexperience in making an order. But they request the white girl standard passion tea lemonade and Frappuccino’s; one of them dares to be different and orders the Blackberry Mojito. The first of many parentless outings prove to be successful and feel the urge to tip the baristas with the change left over. Childhood isn’t entirely dissolved because they don’t know how to stay in one spot and patiently wait for their drink to be called. One of them even stands on the chair.