I await my turn to order, desperately needing coffee. My head feels odd, my memory mashed.
I overslept, rushed out the door with only a quick peck for Dave.
Sunlight stabs my eyes. Impatient, I jab the woman in front of me. “What’s the holdup? It’s just coffee.”
Confused, she turns away without answering.
You’re a bundle of nerves, Dave said.
The light intensifies. A horn sounds. My temples throb.
You need to relax.
That deathtrap intersection at 9th and Main.
Slow down a bit.
A chill overtakes me, and I understand.
I’m not in line for coffee.