The guy with the 711 coffee next to me hasn't taken a sip since he has been on the train. I don't blame him as the smell coming from the cup isnt coffee you would want.
It smells like hot mold.
But the longer he sits there the more I wonder if he is going to drink it. The anticipation is killing me wondering what his facial expression would be. He cradles the cup like anyone does, but there are no lip prints on the lid.
He looks tired, even. Drink it! Oh it is just too much. Perhaps he is a connoisseur and knows the secret temperature where it becomes perfect. His eagerness to drink it is tempered by his patience and knowledge.
"Soon," he thinks.
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