Page 398 - Anonymous
P. 398
eyes, dark hair swept up into a messy
bun. She has that stoniness her mother
possesses but looks a lot like her father.
“Sure.” She replenishes my coffee
and saunters away from me over to
another table where a man my age sits,
his head buried in a newspaper. She has
to clear her throat to get his attention.
I'm sitting in a corner, punching
away at my keys. I'm not working on
anything in particular, just indexing my
