Coffee (#7 of 365)

Her tongue still burns from the morning’s coffee. She scratches it against her teeth and winces. No easy fix.

She twists her hair in a bun and hides her eyes with shades. Stepping out on the street, the wind swooshes around her face and jolts her awake. She scrunches her coat tighter and paces the sidewalk.

Her steps are quick due to the cold, but the wish to turn back grows. Her head throbs from last night’s drinks. She curses her coffee for not doing it’s job.

She catches her reflection the mirror and frowns. She smooths over the kink a top her head.

She hustles through a crowd but is slowed by a wayward child. His mother calls him to hurry, but not in time. She trips around the child and skids on her stilettos.


Her ankle.

“Are you ok?”

She hobbles on her sprain, away from concerned on-lookers. She takes a breath, concluding today is not her day.

She pants outside her office building. A mix of freezing and pain. She stares up at the sign advertising the company. She rushes her hand over her hair and checks the state of her shoes.
They don’t match.
In the haze of after work drinks, she championed the idea of asking for a promotion. At this rate, she might get fired.
She holds her head high, which helps not puke, and struts into the office.
Index and middle finger crossed behind her back.

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