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I sit at the counter worn from years of scrubbing and countless cups… - Corwin's Journal [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]

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[Apr. 11th, 2006|09:56 am]
I sit at the counter worn from years of scrubbing and countless cups of coffee slid across it's surface. The early spring morning is ripe and gently making it's presence known through the open door. People are talking all around me and I am unaware of their conversations. Lust for this day has taken me fully and I am slowly taking all she has to offer. The warm smells of coffee and re-fried beans, the dampness in the cool air. I am aware of the birds singing somewhere off in the distance and I wonder if they feel the love that is here or if it is just for me. Unbroken by thought of my day I eat my eggs and the tortilla that a woman barely more than a girl has brought me and I know she feels it too. There is no tenseness in the air to disturb what is happening. All of the workers help each other it is part of what I like about this place. It is family and I am a part for fifteen minutes, doing my part of making this what it is today, just for right now, knowing that later I will be replaced and it will continue and the love will be experienced by someone else. The warm smell of patchouli wakens me from my dream as a woman walks to the counter to pay and reminds me that my time here is done and I am grateful for it.