The Writer

He motioned with his left hand at the girl as she walked by his table, his head still down looking at his journal. “More coffee?” she asked motioning toward his empty coffee cup, briefly stopping on her way to the counter. “Yes and keep it filled”, he muttered at her with an air of annoyance. “Sure thing”, the young waitress replied as she bounced away to the counter grabbing up the coffee pot. “Anything to go in it?” she inquired as she refilled the mug, smiling in that vacant way too many people have that have not really experienced life. Jesus H. Christ, he thought to himself, how hard is it to remember after three days that he only took his coffee black except for the occasional Irish whisky he would spike it with. “Just hot, strong and black. NothingContinue reading… The Writer