To the writer in the coffee shop.


It was a cold fall day, and she walked in with a black trench coat. Her glasses covered in raindrops that reflected the world around her. She ordered a salted caramel latte and made small talk with the barista.

This had become her routine. It was a nice one. She could have done anything she wanted, or nothing. It was all the same after all.

She could have been one of the marketing/sales reps sitting in front of her talking in their business tones about business as usual or she could have been the couple behind her. Were they a couple? Were they just friends enjoying each other’s company? Wasn’t easy to tell without knowing who they actually were.

Another writer walked in. She could tell he was a writer by his demeanor. It was the outfit. It was the way he entered the facility like he had a hundred times before. The baseball cap fit snuggly and the glasses that had a million characters hidden inside that only he could see. He also made small talk with the barista and ordered a small black coffee. He sat with his chin resting on his palm as he read his words looking for a hint of reality that he’d never be able to find here in a coffee shop.

We’ll probably never speak to each other–we, writers we rarely do. But we will forever be kindred spirits in search of something deeper, and I just wanted to say I hope you find that world and the characters that bring out the very best of your own reality.

Cheers, fellow writers, and have a nice hot cup of liquid creativity on national coffee day.

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