Late Night Study
Who: Remy, OTA Where: Campus Starbucks When: Two A.M, Friday Night What: Late night Coffee
If there was a devil infesting this world as the leaves turned golden and orange it was the overwhelming smell of spices and seasonings mingling with coffee in unholy ways that no civil man would ever imbibe. Satan, thy name is Pumpkin Spice Latte. Don’t get him wrong, the seasonal flavors of nutmeg and cinnamon were not entirely without a place in Remy’s heart, but the idea of dumping a perfectly good Thanksgiving pie into a vat of milk-diluted coffee was almost more than he could bear.
The wafting aroma that seemed to permeate every corner of the coffee shop had put him off his appetite for study tonight. He pushed aside the laptop which was aglow with his economics theory readings and poked unenthusiastically at the half-eaten cheese Danish on his plate. What he wouldn’t do for a genuine beignet du Monde or a real glass of sweet tea. It was strange the little things you missed when you were away from the comforts of home and what habits of West Coasters annoyed you the most.
He lifted a cigarette, black clove, to his lips and lit it up with a flick from his charged fingertips. Leaning back in his chair against the pillar behind him that carried the no smoking sign, he pulled a pack of cards from his expensive, Italian and sloppily maintained jacket. Rather than the usual set of Las Vegas grade spades and hearts, the deck he produced was an ancestor of the more modern playing cards: a tarot deck. His fingers ran along the fresh surface of the glossy paper, gaining a feel for them before setting them to a rigorous and thorough shuffling. Expert hands made a flashy show of randomizing the deck, though the draws that came afterward were deliberate, slow and meaningful. He began arranging them along his crumb-covered table, his crimson-and-black eyes carefully examining each in turn.