The city—a maze of steel and unspoken ambition, its sky bruised and hanging low. Skyscrapers loom like silent watchers of the ambition below. I stroll down 7th Avenue, dark bags under my eyes, as cars blare their horns, creating a chaotic scene of noise that my mind fixated on more than most days. The smog is visible, I can almost taste it. I love it anyway. It’s probably cliche; it is, but these streets harbor secrets.
Every morning, I make my way to my favorite coffee shop, Espresso Yourself. I can’t decide if I find the name clever, dumb, or ridiculous, but it might be the ridiculousness that I find clever. I might think their name is silly, but their coffee is undeniably excellent. The place is a hidden gem—a coffee shop and bookstore rolled into one, although the bookstore aspect feels more like an aesthetic than practical. And I’m okay with that.
If I’m honest though, the real reason I praise this place? I romanticize it. And I see nothing wrong with that. They also have a cute barista named Ally. Normally, I grab my coffee and go, but when she’s behind the counter, I prefer to linger and read. Despite this, our interactions rarely go beyond my drink order and a stilted “How’s your day?” or “Morning”—words I often stumble over. In a way, I relish the enigma of our non-relationship. It’s likely to remain a mysterious non-relationship because taking it a step further risks failure. And between mystery and failure, I choose mystery every time.
I walked into the shop, greeted by the familiar ding of its old-school bell—a detail I’ve always appreciated about the place. Today felt different. I glanced at the counter and realized Ally wasn’t there, even though she usually works this shift. In her place stood an older man, donning a cowboy hat with its brim pulled down uncomfortably low.
“Howdy, sir. What can I get started for you?” he asked.
I hesitated, long enough for the pause to become awkward—or at least, that’s how it felt to me.
“Uh—yeah, could I have a medium iced mocha with an extra shot of espresso? And oat milk, please.” He nodded and I inserted my credit card.
As he turned away, the air grew heavy. The walls liquefied. Customers froze in place. Colors bled into one another, dripping down the walls. The walls began to fold in on themselves until my surroundings became a barren dry desert. Yet, the counter remained. The cowboy remained. And there I stood, in a desolate desert, next to a coffee shop counter, with a giant green frog eyeing me from the dry cracked ground.
The cowboy barista unfroze and locked eyes with me, reinstating that uncomfortable silence.
“You should never have to see me twice, do you believe?” he said.
I remained silent.
“Life’s full of choices, ain’t that right?” he added before freezing again.
The desert around me began to dissolve, including the frog, and the walls of the coffee shop reassembled themselves around me, the counter, and the cowboy.
“Um…sir, your coffee,” the cowboy barista said, extending his arm to hand me my drink, a puzzled expression on his face.
“Sorry, yeah, thank you,” I muttered, offering a half-smile. He nodded in return. I grabbed my coffee and headed for the door. As I was leaving, I glanced back to see the cowboy barista tipping his hat to me.
The door dinged as I stepped back out into the chaotic streets.
Thank you for your time.
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Stay curious.
I like how you took a concept of getting a cup of coffee every morning and turn it into something
That looks out of the ordinary such as the characters freezing, and plays the main character expecting the regular barista to be there and the dessert setting completed with
the cowboy barista. Overall good job on the
setting