It burns my tongue, the cocoa is way too hot. I grab the barrista who's passing my table by her sleeve, emerald eyes turn to gaze down at me past a white apron and a tray of empty sweetener packages. "Do you think I could get a bit of whipped cream on this?" I say with a child's eyes. "Sure thing, sugar." She giggles. I sit back in my chair and laugh for a moment at the irony of what she said. She called me sugar, and shes a barrista, getting me a condiment. I guess its a joke thats only funny if you truly wish to see the humor in the little things. The bustle of this place gives a cozy feeling, the hipsters sit in the back by the windows that overlook the highway, my ears cant seem to ignore the sound of rain on the skylight above my table. A mother with a stroller sits in the center table, shes the athletic type, taking a run every morning and always stopping here, yet for some reason she always seems unhappy. Not my business. Im too busy studying the room to notice the barrista coming back with the whipped cream. Im staring at the skylight, leaned back in my chair, listening to the leather on the seat creak and adjust to my movement. "Excuse me mister, I've got your whipped topping." She smiles, leaning down to pick up my cup, I catch her looking at me through her curly hair, she has this pair of pink heels on, they stand out against the checkered tile floor. "Thats plenty, thanks a lot." I take a breath to compliment her shoes but I am interrupted by the sound of a car accident outside.
