A short morning sketch

The coffe is so bitter it is almost tongue-numbing. The diner is nearly empty, patrons discouraged by the early morning snowfall; or by this coffee..

An elderly waitress named something unfitting for her age- Tiffany, Steffanie, polishes a spot on the acrylic countertop.

“-More coffee, dear?” God no…

“-I still have some!” I force a crooked smile that covers my words like a peeling bandaid. She returns to polishing before acknowledging my haphazard attempt at response. Did she already know what my answer was going to be?

Another hundred words are crammed into the article that I find difficult to relate to. “Five cents per word” I remind myself.

A ding of the bell above the door; A gust of wind pushes the man inside. He brushes the snow off his arms and releases the smell of strong cigarettes by unwrapping the folds of his coat.

“-Steffie!” He brays joyfully. She is already at his side, the demonic liquid agitated like the stormy sea inside the pot-bellied vessel in her hand.

He breathes in the coffee steam, cradling the chipped cup with two bear-mitts-for-hands.

“-Steffie makes coffee like no Starbucks ever will!” He addresses the room, but for the lack of patrons his words land on me.

“-Oh, I agree..” I toast him with my own coffee cup. Starbucks would never do that to coffee.. I add under my breath.

“-Oh your coffee is getting cold!” Steffie appears out of thin air, her weaponized hand rapidly approaching the rim of my cup before I can block her. It took me so long to get through this little bit of her bitter liquid torture.

A woman comes in and sits herself in a booth behind me. “What are you doing? Run!” Steffie pops out of the never before noticed door behind me, armed and ready to go. Maybe locals are used to it? Their tongues numbed by Steffie’s pervert coffe tricks.

“-Oh yeesss!!!” the woman blows on her red fingers, rubbing them together, “ Nothing like Steffie’s coffee..”

“Yep… it’s a cult…and she is their leader”