Angie shook her head to indicate that no, she did not mind, and smiled as the woman sat gracefully across from her. There was something different about her, but then again - there was something different about most people here. Even after ten years, Angie still wasn't quite used to it, and often found herself surprised by one thing or another.
"The coffee's good here," Angie agreed, finally sipping her own. There was something about that first taste of coffee, especially on cold mornings, that radiated through the soul. She vaguely remembered some famous author - Steinbeck, maybe - had a quote about coffee and cold. It slipped from her memory as fast as it had entered. For someone who enjoyed reading, she didn't have much of a mind to remember things she read.
When the woman asked about clothing, Angie looked down at her dress again, aware suddenly of how faded it was becoming. She took good care of her clothes, but sewing or ironing couldn't fix every problem. Especially when she was determined to get as much wear out of every piece as possible, until it was falling to pieces. "I do love old clothing," she finally agreed, looking back at her temporary companion. "Growin' up, I didn't have no fashion magazines like some'a the other girls. I found old ones where I could and read 'em. Most were so ancient, the pages were nearly faded to white from bein' in the sun."
Angie took another sip of coffee, feeling it slowly fortifying her. It was magic how it did that. "I don't think I caught your name - I'm Angie." She held out her hand.