We were all hugs in the middle of the coffee line. Ours was a long overdue sit down now gift wrapped in a new project. We chatted through the line to a table by the window. Our sitting tipped the tiny cafe's count to "half full," joining a man with the newspaper, a pair of women studying and a shop regular who tittered with the barista while buying her bulk beans. My coffee mate and I were laughing and catching up, taking advantage of the holiday time warp. Not long into our conversation, a young guy walked through space and asked if we knew Mr. Wilson. We didn't. The young man moved on, melting into ambient cafe shapes and noises behind our conversation. Standing on the opposite side of the high table next to ours, the young man blurts out "HOW MUCH?" but to no on in particular. He walked out. We raised our eyebrows and kept talking. We were coasting into the brainstorming portion of our meeting when my coffee-mate's gaze was pulled beyond my s...
Dasha Kelly Hamilton's ramblings, writing and random, wild imaginings.