Michael (swordinhand) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-04-01 01:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | michael |
Who: Michael [Narrative]
What: Someone's found a soapbox.
Where: Delancey Street, NYC
When: Early morning, Thursday
Warnings: April Fool's Day. Cannot stress that more than enough.
The thing about New York City coffee shops was this.
Madder than going-home traffic hours, madder than Black Friday sales, black this, two cream, lo-fat don't you dare make me fatter fine I guess I'll take that itty-bitty croissant with grape jelly.
Frankly put, it's a mad house. Orders get mixed, who cares if that bitch actually gets a dollop of whipped cream mixed in for her anorexic ass. Who cares if the man at the end of the counter pours in a lil' somethin' from his brown bag, shifty eyes looking around because who knows, the cops show in here more than enough times with the rush. Who cares if the same cup gets picked up immediately after, it's black, it's what the man on the other end ordered and he's on his merry way before the really impatient ones start elbowing each other's gut for leeway.
Like a shot, he downs it in one go. Because last night's meeting, with a couple of wolves hidden within the flock was better forgotten than remembered, as was the tinge of iron smell lacing his fingers and the ever-present temper lurking underneath it all.
He should've known the taste of black coffee wasn't as bitter as that one had been, but it was too late. Someone had tossed a lone milk crate onto the street during the early opening morning hours, and it was orange enough for him to notice.
Michael cleared his throat.
"O SINNER!"