On a Cold Day, A Coffee Drinker (Ok, Chai…)

One huddled group talking quietly, except when they want to be heard.
Little kids, future baristas, are shouting as their dad makes the drinks. They make the students miss the library.
One lady touched me on the shoulder. “Nice hat,” she said.
“Thanks.”
And every time the door opens, I look up. I am waiting on a friend or two or four. And waiting for my headache to go away.
Shared a smile with a guy in a puffy white sweater.
I cleared my throat. He grinned.
Does he think I was listening in?
There is at least one Rastafarian cap in every Austin cafe.
Usually, there are at least two Buddy Hollies.
There is a woman in the back. She’s coughing loudly.
She needs a doctor, not a latte.

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