Coffee’s cold
I counted
A fly make its way around 37 times
Before it decided to die in my mug
The waitress messed the order
Wide birthing hips and an attitude towards life
Screaming
But cowardly
With dark circles under her eyes
And silent
It’s late at night
The man on his stool
Keeps staring
In the alley out back
He’ll kill me
And the coffee’s still cold.
