Even when discussing happier memories, her eyes have a wounded look. Much of what she's seen, she can't explain and doesn't want to think about.
Pouring tea is her escape from uncomfortable conversation.
The cobwebbed elegance of the small café. Bats soar among ruby-red plants. A prim little cheesecake bathes in golden light.
It's startling when during a conversation with a mild-mannered person you stumble on the one topic that brings a savage light to their eyes.
Confounded by 'which' - is it 'which' or 'wich'?
A slow swirl of his spoon in the coffee, the way planets revolve around the sun.
He screams at the supermarket cashier because the store closed two minutes ago, and now he can't get his groceries. He hollers into the night. The cashier could be a parent, a boss, a lover who's just walked out on him. He stalks away, after promising a harsh review on Yelp.