Fresh steam rising, handle released, and deep dark espresso streams languidly into the cup.
Hands pushing cash and change with ruby red nails and little skull and dice rings.
Single shot. Hot.
She flipped her hair with a puff of breath, somehow more magic than physics.
The line of liquid cut across the dense white foam. Bitter flavor mixed with milky smoothness.
Short cup. Lips.
There wasn't a song but a repeating skip on the jukebox. Some beat, shaking hips without chords.
With that, she bumped it, grin and with up cast eyes, looking like a song you love but don't mention.
"London Calling". Clash.
The night was all black cats and moonshine. The open sign just kept arcing longer than anyone wanted.
Nothing stopped her though, two sugars and a lid to go. Out to the street and her dark horse, into some other dream?
Tail lights. Fade.
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