Catharsis

!

Her hair was a mess, sloppy thrown into a bun with tendrils of brown hair falling against the frame of her face and curling down the nape of her neck. The arpon she tied loosely around her waist was splotched with stains of ranch, mustard, and all the mysterious liquids found in a restaurant. In the pockets, there was a pen pad with the wrinkled pages turning up on the edge and too many pens that ran out of ink some time ago. The jeans she wore faded to a grayish-blue in the thighs, the butt, and the knees, and had fraying on the bottom. All symptoms from too many years of abuse. In her hands, lay a tray topped with a single cup of black coffee.

    She walks. Steps placed quickly and robotic, like she has walked them a thousand times, and make she has. When she arrives at the desired table she softly sets the cup on the table with a soft clink. The man who sits at the table, smiles a closed-lipped smile and murmurs a quick thanks.

    He was a vision of precision. His suit was made of a deep, navy blue and looked like it was made by the hands of a professional, molded just for him. The jacket pinched his sides to make him appear even slimmer, the cuffs tickled his wrist bone exposing the crisp white of his dress shirt. His Johnston & Murphy shoes starkly juxtaposed with the crackling linoleum beneath his feet. From his cleanly shaved jaw to sharp shape of his nose, everything about the man seemed meticulous.

    She looked at him, a feeling of longing blossoming.

    He gripped his coffee with one hand, steam still curling off the top.

    She let the feeling consume her.

    He bring the cup to his lips, slowing sipping.

    She turns and walks to the kitchen.

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:P