Please, leave enough room for cream. Otherwise, my cup runneth over, all over, all over my teaching clothes. Thank you.
A young man and his friend are sitting in the booth next to mine. "How old were you when you first met God?" He pours the coffee, leaving an inch of room at the top. "I think I was thirteen," the young man answers. "There was an electrical storm..."
The rain washes the coffee stain from my blouse. It's cold and steady, and I'm not in it for long, just long enough to get to my car, just long enough to know that it's all over. Thank you. Thank goodness.