when the sun is out, she’s shedding her own light on all the regulars in the coffee shop. as winter comes to an end and spring begins to bloom, she emerges out of the tiny cocoon she’s put herself in for the winter and flies into the world like a beautiful butterfly. her sweater weather drink is a medium hot peppermint mocha with an extra shot of espresso, normally with a wedge of cheesecake or a cinnamon pastry. the dead of winter brings black rimmed glasses, flannel shirts, ripped jeans, and combat boots. she’s in her place where she feels secure in her chair at the end of the table in the coffee shop. she’ll sit in her chair at the end of the table in the coffee shop for as long as you’ll let her, flipping the pages of her favorite book or creating sparks with weapon of choice, the pen. she’s in her own little world, and she liked it that way. she’ll glance up and notice it, but she chooses not to actually see it. she sits there with her music blasting her ear drums, unable to hear the regular coffee shop madness happening around her. i’ve never spoken to her, but she’s the most interesting person i’ve ever encountered. she sits at the end of the table in the coffee shop all by herself.
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