Mocha, Evening, Jazz and OTA
Jazz had found a package in her mailbox today: a sturdy, mailing envelope that was thick and vaguely squishy. It was held closed with liberal amounts of packing tape. The return address and customs stamp declared to be from Cleo.
Intrigued she carried it with her to the Mocha where she purchased her usual diabetes inducing cup of sugar she dared to call coffee and settled in one of the booths. It took a few moments, but she eventually tore her way into the envelope and found a book with a small note tucked inside the cover.
A gift to help you recover your sense of humour, along with a sense of self-preservation. XOXO Cleo.
Smirking, Jazz turned the book over and read the blurb on the back before she shifted to rest her back against the wall and stretched her long legs out along the bench seat. She held the book open with one hand (inadvertently flashing other patrons with the vaguely macabre cover) turning to the first page and picked up her coffee to sip with the other.
A gift it might have been, but Jazz also suspected it was a gentle dig at her current choice in men.