24 Hours

2.46

Rain could be heard pouring outside the old coffee shop. The rain drops hitting the roof and road pavement outside caused what sounded like white noise to ring in the costumer's ears.

The night sky was starless, as if it were mourning the loss of another soul from this world, or as if it were mourning for the ones who were yet to be lost.

No cars could be seen driving up or down the street and the only lights that illuminated the old street were the ones from the coffee shop, which reflected on the wet pavement and looked like it would make a chill run down people's spines if they were to walk past it.

The small coffee shop stood still as the rain crashed down. Its old white paint peeling off at some places, the large, neon, "24Hour" sign on the steep, brown roof tiredly flashed while the small "open" sign hit the glass door every few minutes, as the wind passes by it and the windows all fogged up, as if what was going on inside, was never meant to be seen.

The inside was even more curious. A small layer of dust had formed on top of the dark wooden tables and chairs, while the large book cases at the back were kept spotless. Peculiar paintings were up on the white walls and looked frightening as the weak, yellow lights from the ceiling hit them. The air smelled of coffee and cinnamon, a smell that is usually comforting, but at this particular place, would make you want to throw up. The waiter looked about as old as the place itself, and spend most of her time napping while sitting on a fair green couch that was situated by the book cases.

The only people who were to be seen were a small, bald man, who looked to be in his late sixties and always brought a photo album with him, which he would look through every night while sipping the bitter coffee, a girl who's age was unrecognizable, she always wore her hair in a bun and glasses on her nose while she scribbled away on the same worn out notebook, as she had for the past year or so, and finally a rather young boy, who had become a regular at the coffee shop no more than four months ago. He always wore the same old grey and black stripped sweater, while his hair went from a blonde to faded black and white mess, as if he hadn't bothered dying it in months. The bags under his eyes were prominent and the dilation of his pupils, due to the outrageous amounts of coffee he drinks every day, would scare anyone who would look his way and he stares off into space as he takes a few sips of his coffee, while casually looking at the white clock on the wall and counting down the minutes until he has to leave, and then would return the next night, at the exact same time.

This night almost felt like any other cold December night. Almost.

The three costumers sat at their usual tables with their usual coffee orders while the waiter slept on the couch while hugging an old book to her chest. The smell of coffee was strong in the air, as was the layer of steam on the windows. But unlike all the other nights, the messy haired boy doesn't watch the clock tick, he doesn't count the hours go by. He just stares into thin air and does his best not to look at the ticking clock, almost as if he was scared of looking at the time.

He stirred the coffee with a small spoon and furrowed his eyebrows while watching the black liquid swirl in front of him, as if in deep thought, before his green eyes looked up, as he heard the small bell above the shop's door ring, signaling that someone had opened the door.

A small, chubby girl walked through the door. She wore rounded glasses on her nose which made her face seem even more circular than it normally was, and converse on her feet, that squeaked and left a small trail of water as she walked towards the bar. A small yawn was heard before the waiter showed up with a cup of steaming hot coffee and placed it in front of the girl, who wrinkled her nose at the smell, but smiled none the less, before handing the old woman a five pound note and motioning for her to keep the change.