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For InuYasha Lovers After a long day at the street market, you begin your walk home. You're carrying two bags full of fresh vegetables and ingredients for bread. The sun flirts with the trees and paints the sky in pink, purple, and orange tones. The wind is gently toying with your hair as you walk.
You live alone. You moved out of your mother and father's home a month ago and got a job to pay for the house. You're doing quite well on your own; your house is tidy and the garden is flourishing.
You open and close the door behind you. A sigh of content flows from your lips as you finally set the grocery bags down and kneel at the table. You light a candle and breathe deeply.
Suddenly, you hear the door open and close. An intruder? You arm yourself with your best spatula and press yourself to the wall next to the kitchen door. The
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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