I'm still loyal to the Chevy. A car that I used to dream 'bout when I was little, it came as a surprise that one day i'd actually own it. And yes, she's a sly one.
Ghastly weather throughout the month, so far. Winds hot, cold. Rains cold, hot. Criminals are the headlines this morning. Tight, empty brained children running about performing acts of envious mystery, spewing out curses they didn't understand. And I don't understand why they use stone to pave the pathways. Don't they know it hurts my feet over time?
The grey resilient ink stained my feminine fingers as I lazily thumbed through the paper sitting extremely comfortably on a thick cushioned rattan chair situated in an extraordinarily perfected spot located at the back of Warm Sarah Cherri's cafe. Sarah called it the Moody chair, and it was always reserved for me. Sarah was a mute. If stories had it right, her father cut it out of her so she couldn't scream proper as he raped her day after day her entire childhood. I fascinated it was a lie, since she was too normal for a mute and she smiled plenty. People who get raped don't smile much. So I assume. Although sometimes the cafe name gave me the chills, sounded sick after it kept bouncing back and forth, the voices making it ring ever more gross.
So, she was a mute, friendly, and she made that coffee always right. A touch of cinnamon and lime. I pitied her a bit every now and then, sent her flowers if I could on the way back from work, gave her some of the family recipes I still kept over the years and sometimes, when I felt the warm slosh of emotion in my tummy, i'd make her flush crimson by saying out loud how gorgeous she was as I said farewell.
Streets are soaked, people clatter about not looking up from under their umbrellas, occasionally exchanging flesh and cloth particles with another similarly clumsy and rushed person. I flipped up the hood, stood looking up at the rain for a good 5 minutes.
I loved them both but I wasn't sure if she did.
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