The clock read 8:35 a.m. A young woman dinged through the front door and marched straight for the counter. Her bleary eyes scanned the menu as she clutched her laptop bag and her purse. She slid her bag haphazardly to the floor. "Small white mocha, add caramel."
Digging into her pocket rather than her purse, the woman pulled out the exact amount of change, in two bills, four quarters, and a myriad of nickels and dimes.
The barista quirked an eyebrow, hesitating before pushing the correct buttons. A pointed look from the young woman made her continue.
"Oh, $3.35 then."
8:36 a.m. Putting one foot in front of the other, the woman moved from the ordering counter to the recieving one. She opened and closed her right-hand fingers and shrugged her shoulder before her head snapped back in the general direction of her laptop case. The woman sighed, dragging her body back to it, picking it up, and bringing it back with her.
8:37 a.m. "Small caramel white mocha." The barista plopped the drink on the counter, dunking a plastic straw inside.
The young woman, carried her drink and her laptop bag, and her purse to a table in the far corner, setting her drink down carefully as her purse and laptop threatened to fall down her arms. Then she picked up her laptop back, set it down on her chair, and pulled out her laptop, set it on the table, and opened it, before turning it on.
8.38 a.m. She siiiipped her drink, and heard the door chime at the same time as her operating system. A young man walked through the door, with a book in one hand and his wallet in the other. Her eyes followed his feet, then her chin, and then her head. The man turned his head and the women's head turned back to her screen like the two chins were attached on a taught string.
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