Coffee Time By Sofia Spagnuolo A cliché coffee shop with a dirty window waits for movement. A wrinkled man sits almost close enough to touch his rough skin. He glances over the pages in his book, immersed in the ink and rusty paper. A sigh. A glance. He puts his receipt bookmark between the pages, $3.99 at a thrift store. His hand trembles as he stares into the street. He looks back down into the words and slams the book shut. “Your life is worth living” reads the cover. He rushes out the door into the heavy air. Sometimes existing sucks.
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