cold door.

She crosses her legs, and immediately uncrosses them just as quickly. Her legs are cold. Every time someone opens the door to the coffee shop cold air comes in. Every time she starts to get warm someone disturbs her reading with the cold weather. It’s cold enough to snow, but it won’t. It’s cold enough to feel lonely, and she does. Her body posture is tense. Elbows tucked tight into her sides. Too much coffee in her stomach. Too many thoughts in her head. She hears the bell above the door chime, just as she feels another tickle of cold on the back of her neck. But then she hears the voice. It’s a deep throaty laugh. She pushes her glasses up on her nose and peeks over her shoulder. The girl is younger than her, she’s not sure by how much, but she carries her self well. She sways with a knowledge of sex and hips that the girl at the table hasn’t been taught. She wouldn’t even know how to sign up for the class, let alone hope to be graded on a curve.