Coffee Beans and Dreams

I went to the small local coffee shop on main today, you know the place. The place filled with assorted hipsters, tourists, nurses and Wi-Fi bums all looking for their own special brew of prehypertension. The almost good covers of old rock songs played in the background, and the semi hot barista with dreads and piercings flittered about with imaginary wings. It was there in the corner of this puny cafe I had made my nest of charging cords, waiting for a story to fall into my head as inspiration walked through the door.

Oblivious to those around, he waited patiently to order with no phone, bag or wallet, just a few dirty bills in his back pocket. There he stood in all his glorious rebellion to the technological revolution around; I slightly eyed him from my expensive nest of metal, feigning disinterest. His hair was raven, skin manly tanned, clothes were dirty adorned with an old metal band and cowboy boots. These were all that made him, him, but not what had caught my eye at first. It was his eyes, opalescent black that filled more of the white than human eyes should.

He stepped towards me confident and smiling. This black eyed stranger smiled like the devil. Curiously I tilted my head to a chair that wasn’t there before, delighted he soon sat beside me.

“Hi,” I uttered shyly.

Darkly he whispered my name.

Never had I heard a voice so deep, and silky in my waking hours. He whispered my name again. Dreams and nightmares soon clashed in my head as I took in his strangely now familiar face. In panicked shock I stared hard into his eyes and saw my thoughts played within his mind. Amazed, I took in his all too perfect face. My heart could have stopped during this mental worship and I wouldn’t have cared, because I was staring straight into my creation and I knew it was time.