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Nothing Quite Like It - Ch. 9
Chapter Nine: Sharing the Dream
No matter how many times Ariadne searched through the contents of her desk drawer, her totem did not turn up. Letting out a deep sigh of frustration, she pushed the drawer shut, held on to her towel again as she stood up, placing her other hand on her forehead to equalize the pressure building inside. Alright, Ariadne, think, she instructed herself, breathing slowly. I had it on me all the time. If it's not in here,...
With that she whirled around and made for the bathroom. Scattered about the floor were the clothes she had worn that day. She grabbed her pants and reached into the pockets, soon feeling something cold and solid inside. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ariadne produced the small chess piece from one of the pockets and set it up right there on the tiled floor of her bathroom. She hesitated for a moment, then tipped it with her finger. At that, she gasped, picked up the totem, set it up once more and double-checked. Shaking h
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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