He sat there drumming his fingers on the table at the booth he waited for her in.
The hollow thumping nearly echoing the beating of his heart, though he would never know how fast it really beat.
Anticipation filled his brain as his thorughts turned to her tardiness.
"Typical..." he said, grabbing the salt shaker and dusting the top of it off with the tip of his index finger.
The waitress returned to the table, a pot of what they passed as coffee in her hand. Her slightly broad frame indicated that she'd been there for at least twenty years and had no intention of leaving anytime soon.
"Can I top you up, hon?" she inquired, smiling slightly.
Glancing up at her nametag, he nodded "Sure thing... Charlene."
She poured the caffienated mud into his off-white mug and returned to the television, playing some 1960's gameshow, behind the counter.
He glanced around the diner and took census of who was there; a couple in their mid-thirties eating french fries with their own glass of cola, an elderly man with a cup of coffee and a nearly completed club sandwich, and a small group of teenagers in the corner drinking only soda and bursting out in laughter occasionaly.
He slowly tapped the salt shaker until it fell over, spilling some of it's contents on the table and said to himself "She's not coming."
Defeated, he took several large swigs from the mug, partially burning his tongue which the apathy of being left alone, again, dulled.
Grabbing his coat, he slipped his arms into the sleeves and pushed the mittens hidden inside onto the seat of the booth. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out three dollars and lay them on the table, one ontop of the other, crossing in an asterisk form.
He smiled at his creation and nodded at the waitress.
Head down, he pushed the door slowly, the cold hitting him slowly. He slid on his mittens and stood outside for a moment before heaving one final sigh.
He stepped forward to move as a hand fell on his shoulder.
"Sorry I'm late," she said, exhaling the smoke and dropping the remnant of a cigarette on the slush covered sidewalk "Guess you already had coffee, huh?"
He turned around and looked into her eyes.
He couldn't help but smile.
"Yeah, but I could go for some more."
He held the door open and they both entered the same booth he was just in.
"Charlene," he said, raising his voice just enough to distract her from the television "Another cup please, and a refill."
The hollow thumping nearly echoing the beating of his heart, though he would never know how fast it really beat.
Anticipation filled his brain as his thorughts turned to her tardiness.
"Typical..." he said, grabbing the salt shaker and dusting the top of it off with the tip of his index finger.
The waitress returned to the table, a pot of what they passed as coffee in her hand. Her slightly broad frame indicated that she'd been there for at least twenty years and had no intention of leaving anytime soon.
"Can I top you up, hon?" she inquired, smiling slightly.
Glancing up at her nametag, he nodded "Sure thing... Charlene."
She poured the caffienated mud into his off-white mug and returned to the television, playing some 1960's gameshow, behind the counter.
He glanced around the diner and took census of who was there; a couple in their mid-thirties eating french fries with their own glass of cola, an elderly man with a cup of coffee and a nearly completed club sandwich, and a small group of teenagers in the corner drinking only soda and bursting out in laughter occasionaly.
He slowly tapped the salt shaker until it fell over, spilling some of it's contents on the table and said to himself "She's not coming."
Defeated, he took several large swigs from the mug, partially burning his tongue which the apathy of being left alone, again, dulled.
Grabbing his coat, he slipped his arms into the sleeves and pushed the mittens hidden inside onto the seat of the booth. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out three dollars and lay them on the table, one ontop of the other, crossing in an asterisk form.
He smiled at his creation and nodded at the waitress.
Head down, he pushed the door slowly, the cold hitting him slowly. He slid on his mittens and stood outside for a moment before heaving one final sigh.
He stepped forward to move as a hand fell on his shoulder.
"Sorry I'm late," she said, exhaling the smoke and dropping the remnant of a cigarette on the slush covered sidewalk "Guess you already had coffee, huh?"
He turned around and looked into her eyes.
He couldn't help but smile.
"Yeah, but I could go for some more."
He held the door open and they both entered the same booth he was just in.
"Charlene," he said, raising his voice just enough to distract her from the television "Another cup please, and a refill."
hippieanarchist:
excellent 
2low:
dang, thats pretty good. and all to fermiliar. rock on and happy holidays! stay outta' the nog! 