Time for Coffee

Wiping sleep from her eyes and climbing easily up the ledge, knowing her way, the spider scurries out of the window towards the sidewalk. The air was new, wispy, speaking of a new tomorrow. What is up ahead? Is it a street sign? Tear it down! The red siren blaring as it goes past, wheels, and signals, a large bus. Turning the corner of desire, awaiting truth or amusement, Ah! A foot approaches!

Lost in the brush, footsteps approaching, a large blue sign reading in white letters “Warwick River Hall”? What is a hall? Is it an atrocity that lives within the walls of the mind? Golf carts racing, green, then blue, then red. Red. Why red? Dr. Cusher nods at her, tipping his hat. Sun, glaring, staring, above. Clock singing in the distance, white shorts flashing. Flaunting legs in Spring. Spring wanting, desiring, yearning. Everything, amounting to it, laboring towards it, denying it. Everything.

Cobblestones daunting, amounting, Plaza buzzing with action, life, students. Now to thrust through the door, cold air slaps, long lines. (This buzzing in the air – Sugar? No thank you – the commonwealth of the future). The future, her future, why? Returning she has coffee in hand, bronze as the morning sun.