A Coffee Shop Encounter

"You know, I don't usually talk to strangers," Charlotte said, sipping her coffee in a vain attempt to hide a smile.

"I do. It's a miracle I haven't been killed by one of you yet,” Amos said, “I mean, statistically speaking, a stranger like you could have six people chopped up in their basement and I would never know."

"Is that so? So of all the 467,000 murderers in the U.S., what makes me the killer?" Charlotte said, raising her eyebrows.

"I mean, look at you. You're drinking your coffee even though you already burned your tongue twice since we started talking!"

"You know what kind of person notices things like that? Crazy maniacs!" Charlotte said as the pair of them found seats by the café window.

“Touché,” Amos said, taking a sip of his own.

A table away, someone got up to leave the cafe with a confused expression. Accidentally stumbling over Amos's stool, they grumbled an apology and pretended not to hurry out the door. Amos shook hot coffee from his fingers and the conversation drifted into silence.

Charlotte held her cup, staring out the window and continuing to take fake sips of coffee to spite her neighbor. Murmured orders, clinks, clangs, and echoes of conversations melted together in the wood-grained ambience. The warmth escaped through the panes of glass to her front, chilling her nose. Breathing in the warm coffee, she sighed with content.

"Sad, isn't it?" Amos's voice cut through the ambience.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Weren't you watching him too? The man across the street, you were staring right at him." Charlotte looked ahead again, refocusing her eyes. Amos gestured ahead, where a homeless man laid directly in her line of sight. He sat against a building with eyes closed, presumably asleep. Passersby walked in arcs around him on their ways to buy their street food and department store wares. Leaning up against him was a sign that read: THEY TOOK MY ONLY FRIEND. ADOPT FROM LOCAL SHELTERS. Charlotte felt a medicine ball pound into her chest. She didn't say anything, afraid of choking on her own words.

Amos fidgeted uncomfortably. “It’s a shame he ran out so soon...”

Charlotte looked back to him, brows knit.

“What? Don’t you like hot dogs?” Amos shrugged, pointing at the street vendor outside.