Coffee shop


She sits alone, unspeaking, eyes lowered, fixed on the cup in front of her. The cup is cream coloured, a green band around the rim, the dregs of her tea, a few errant leaves in the bottom of the cup, the small silver spoon resting on the saucer. The matching milk jug sits unused beside the cup, she drinks her tea black, no sugar, the bitter aftertaste suiting her personality.

Around her the shop fills and empties, the flow of humanity sometimes frantic, sometimes leisurely. She doesn’t watch the movements of customers or staff, barely registering her tea pot being replaced periodically by a waitress well used to her customers peculiarities.

The notepad on the table is covered with a rough hessian sacking, and every page is covered in notes, sketches, thoughts, musings, ideas. Periodically she flicks through the pages, making an additional note here, adding a line to a drawing there. Her purpose to the casual observer unclear as she pours another cup of bitter tea…

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