Or because this place gives more than it takes.
Or for a reason that isn’t supposed to make sense yet.
Either way,
I keep showing up as if I’m waiting for it,
following the pull,
hand on the handle,
something more powerful than me
dragging me in.
And again?—
The door sticks,
the bell jingles,
the warmth wraps around me as I step inside.
Right away,
the scent of espresso and dust-soaked pages
fill my senses,
and the record player's crackling,
Guns N' Roses humming
through one blown-out speaker.
At the espresso bar,
the barista hands me a coffee?—
black, extra shot, extra hot.
I sip it slow, savoring the burn as I wander.
I grab a magazine off a shelf,
pass a girl sitting at one end of the long table,
her face hidden behind a dog-eared McFadden novel,
her hand clutching a chipped mug.
I drop into the armchair tucked in the back,
sunken in and buried by shadow.
I barely make it through two pages of the Draven-Raines ego war before
I noticehim.
