by Ari Collins
I walked right to the table -- past the note where her toaster had been. I lifted her still-warm coffee and, with my pinky, traced the half-circle underneath. The pattern foretold that she'd return. Not soon or happily or when I'd most need her. But she would return.
The coffee was lukewarm and salty.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Modern Fortune Telling
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