the coffee date

 

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Friday, early evening. Sun has not set and a precocious former student and a college professor are having coffee. Having conversation, facilitated by coffee. Words about numbers, mathematics and machines. He was her logistics professor.

She is little, and not quite pretty. White blond hair, pointed face. Intelligent, sort of vaguely self-aware. He is Indian, ten, fifteen years older. the slick black boots, the jeans of a younger man. Very intelligent. Mild accent, almost easy to confuse for something else. Bald spot on the back – balding, sorry. Hands are very emphatic, very expressive.

There is no flirting, if that is what you are thinking. They are talking jobs, business. Networking. She flatters him but no more than is necessary or appropriate and she almost makes it sound clinical.

There are Christmas lights winking in the trees outside. It is cold, but they are there all year.

He is seasoned, mostly unaffected by her subtle flattery. He is patient. The bottom of his shoes are scuffed. Even sitting down, he is not tall. He sports a one inch heel– one and a quarter, sorry. His cuffs are stiff, pristine.

She says “to be completely honest” twice in the next eight minutes. Her breath starts to smell like coffee.

His phone goes off. Talk lulls.

“So—”

Delicate jewelry, tiny chain. Straight back, high boots with tight laces. He has glasses, and a candid, unfavoriting manner towards her.

He uses the word “sexy” and it doesn’t mean anything.

She has other avenues and a flat, plain way of speaking. Almost nasally.

Rockabilly music starts. An old man walks in and it’s like his theme song.


A/N: Sometimes, I like to sit in coffeeshops and watch people. This was written earlier in the year, at Jupiter House in Denton, TX. I’m aware that “unfavoriting” isn’t recognized as a proper word.   

It often takes me a while to process things fully. Things often need cleaning up before they make it out into the world. 

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