Dirty Coffee ☕

Under the raining Chicago horizon sat a waning sun sinking into sleep. The soft pitter-patter of rain sounded through a car's windowpane as it made its way down the wet streets. A gleaming sliver of moon could be seen hiding through the hazy blue-orange clouds layered in the sky. The car rounded past a stoplight and slowed.

The car sputtered. Sputtered. Sputtered. Stopped.

From inside, groans of frustration could be heard growing louder. A young woman unlocked a door and bolted out, mumbling underneath her breath as she slammed the door shut again. She unfastened an umbrella and opened it wide, bringing it up to her head as she sauntered to the front of the car, where a smoking engine sat wearily. She unhooked the front and stared at the dreary sight, searching for a solution.

Finally, she pulled away from the car and noticed an aged sign warning drivers that a tow-truck may haul off cars parked in this incorrect parking area. A small phone number was exhibited below a large image of a tow truck on the sign. Grinning, she strode back into the car, hunting down her phone. She found it buried underneath gathering layers of papers; mail, taxes, bills, notes, reminders. Her thumbs tapped the screen. Once. Twice. Frantically, she slammed her hand against the buttons. She drew away and probed her surroundings. A half-empty coffee shop perched across the street, with flickering lights, a neon OPEN sign, and extended doors, despite the unattractive weather.

The woman looked left and right, then sprinted through the busy, wet streets of late-evening Chicago, leaving an unworking phone and an unworking car behind.

She latched herself onto the open doors of the coffee shop, draining the rainwater from her golden locks of hair and inhaling the capricious scent of ground coffee beans. The woman hysterically ran up the empty wait-line, where she found a young boy, somewhere in his early 20's, tapping his thumbs against an illuminating screen.

"Excuse me," the woman puffed as she caught her breath, "I need to use a phone if you'll allow me. My car's engine has broken down outside," she moved aside to allow the boy to see her car, resting calmly across the street.

The boy looked up at her, his cheeks flushing with rouge. "Oh, I see," he said as his eyes flickered between the car, the woman, and his gleaming phone, "I'll get on that. Do you need a tow truck?" His reddened fingers were already tapping out the number of a tow trucking agency before the woman could mumble 'yes.'

After the boy talked to the workers on the other side of the line, he hung up and placed his phone down. His green eyes fluttered at her. "Would you like something to drink?" he said in between stutters and lisps. "It's on me." His eyes darted away from hers where he hesitated for a moment before meeting hers once more. "Hey," he began as he hesitated for reaching his phone on the counter by his scrawny side, covered in an ugly green uniform. "The tow truck isn't going to be here for another while. You wouldn't mind coming back into the employee lounge with me, would you? Practically no one else is here, so you may be lonely." He gestured around before putting his arms down along with his head. His voice was reduced to almost a whisper; his reddened cheeks were scorching hot.

The woman looked at the boy. "No," she mumbled under her heaving breath. "I'm fine here. No drinks either." She stumbled away from the counter and placed a shaking hand on a dusty wooden table. Her legs slammed against the hideous green, patterned booth as she threw her body against it. The boy at the counter looked displeased; he lifted his leg as if he was going to take a step, then thought better of it and sat back down, phone in hand, tapping away whatever thoughts he had left into his repulsive phone.

The woman looked up sourly, then placed her down head against her folded arms on the table. She closed her eyes and tuned out the sounds of grotesque, uncut fingernails jabbing into phone screens.

Suddenly the vile noise of a cold, ringing bell came, and along with it ambled an old man, smacking his frayed lips and straightening his wet glasses. He walked towards the unattractive boy at the counter and received a drink shortly after his order. As the old man turned around, he noticed the young woman with her head down, golden locks spread across the table. He smirked a disfigured smirk and rambled closely to her.

"Are you feeling well?" he asked in a scratchy, rough-throated sound. An ugly sound. The woman lifted her head up and straightened out her frizzled, damp hair. "Yes, I'm feeling excellent, thank you," she uttered into one sentence. "I suppose that's good," the old man remarked. He smelled of rotten, old smoke, and a life filled with grievance and disappointment. She shuddered.

The old man turned his head in both directions, scanning the unpleasant coffee shop. The boy had gone into the employee lounge while the old man spoke to the lady. Seeing that they were the only ones there, the old man declared, "It's empty in here. Do you mind if I sit with you?" He slipped into the booth across from her before the woman could part her lips to speak. "Ah.." she began, then halted.

The old man spoke grimly about unimportant matters, and the woman nodded along in reply, looking away occasionally in an attempt to subside the unwanted conversation.

"You know, I think you're beautiful," the old, crippled man whispered into her ear, a sick grin forming on his pale, cracked lips. The woman pulled back, disgusted, and studied his ill-favored features. His ugly, cracking, hairy hands reached over for hers, which pulled back in response. "I'm married," she lied as his ancient hands hesitated on the table. "Oh," he mouthed, looking back at her hands, now balled into fists, "May I see your ring?" The woman looked at him dejectedly. "May I see the time, instead?" she changed the subject. "I'm expecting someone," she proclaimed, matter-of-factly, as the old man's hands were removed from the tabletop. "It's 8:36," he said. Before he could reach over again and try once more, the woman was standing up, walking away from the ill-mannered, unsightly table.

The woman loitered around by the entrance of the coffee shop, but only received snarling beads of frozen water and swift flurries of white snow. As time ticked on, she grew impatient. She strode over hesitantly behind the counter, where she discovered a tight hallway, crowded with empty trophy cases, taped photos, and crammed corkboards leading to the employee lounge. She rapped the door with her rough knuckles and waited. After the door exhibited no response, she placed a solemn hand on the door handle and pushed. She walked into the boy, mindlessly playing videogames on a small, dirtied console. She tapped him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, but when is the tow truck going to arrive," she inquired impatiently. He looked up at her, startled. "Oh, hey. I'm not sure, but it should be here soon." He looked around, his cheeks reddening again. His mouth opened, but before he could ask anything, the woman answered. "I'll have to decline your offer," she forced a smile.

She walked over to the front of the lounge and shut the wilting door on the gaping boy. As the woman returned to the main room, she sat down at a booth far from the one the wrinkled, old man sat on.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Time passed by, and the woman's eyelids struggled to remain open. They fluttered, flittered, flapped, and closed.

Suddenly, a young man walked into the shop in rusted overalls. "Did anyone here need a tow truck?" he yelled and scanned the crowd. One woman and one old man. The irrelevant boy was still tapping away in the lounge.

The woman lifted herself, thankfully, and waved. "Yes, it's me. My car broke down across the street," she proclaimed as she gestured to the dirty coffee shop window. "We'll have it moved in only a moment," he smiled. He beamed.

The old man blew a sloppy, wet kiss to the woman from behind, lifting up his collar in an act of flirtation.

The woman moved outside, where the man latched her car onto his. She watched as he plodded himself back into his truck and motioned for her to enter. "It's pretty late and your car isn't doing too good. Where would you like to be dropped off?" he asked calmly. She huffed as she attempted climbing into the seat of the truck. He noticed this and lent out a hand. She took it, and was pulled up, noticing the hand was sullied and tired. The woman smiled as she gave her address to the tow trucker, to which he jotted it down and nodded in reply.

They began the journey to her home in silence. The woman tapped her foot against the metal flooring of the truck, impatiently. The man glanced over, then proceeded to place his hand on the radio. "What would you like to listen to?" he asked her, gently. His voice was warm. It was soft. "Anything, really," the woman replied, "but I'd like music." He smiled and tuned in to an upbeat song. The two leaned back. "What's your name?" the woman asked, suddenly, a shy smile devouring her lips. "Paul. Paul Eastman. And you?" he offered. "Laurette Owens. But just call me Laura," she answered. The man smirked softly. "Lah-ouo-rette," he pronounced. She grinned in reply. "Cut half of that off. La-u-ra. That's all," she laughed. "Was that your husband?” the man inquired after a frivolous conversation. Her head leaned towards him, her eyes in question. "What do you mean?" she mumbled. "His eyes split from the road for a moment as they glanced at her. "The old man. He waved over a kiss as you left the coffee shop. You were in that new coffee shop just now. Do you know him?” he asked as he pointed to the shrinking coffee shop behind the truck. The woman beamed. "That coffee shop is the worst place I've ever been in. I never want to go back," she smiled, which, in turn, made the man smile. "Everyone and everything in that shop was horrible. I’ve never seen the old man before, and I don’t want to again,” she continued. The smile widened on the driver's face. "So," he said. "So," the woman replied. The driver looked at her gently. "Laura," he began. "Hmm," she mumbled from underneath drowsy eyelids. "How would you like to drink some coffee? From another coffee shop, that is," he smiled softly at her. She gazed at him, and a grin formed on her youthful features. "I'd love that," she whispered. The driver glanced at his wristwatch. "Drinking coffee at 2:00 in the morning," he chuckled lightly.

"I'd love that," Laura smiled, repeating herself once more as they drove away, the now-full moon beaming its soft, white rays on their gently-moving truck.