It was a clear night in late October--or at least I assumed. I had never been able to distinguish cloudy from clear, let alone when the path we were walking was enveloped in smoke and booze. Why did the best coffee shop in town have to be in the middle of this?

It didn't matter though, when the door shut behind us it was out of mind. All we were concerned about was the coffee about to enter our systems (not that it was actually coffee, it had been drowned out by the overwhelming chocolatey flavor).

There's nothing like sharing a coffee with a friend. Friend. Is that what they're called these days? Those whom we trust. Those we would (supposedly) do anything for. Because the truth is, a friend's only a friend until someone better comes along.

You see, we live in a nasty two-cylinder cycle. The first--we do something bad, something human, so we call up a friend and invite them to a drink. Sit them down at a table--a secluded one. One in the back corner, surrounded by windows. (Because windows provide little glimpses at how others' lives are worse off than your own.) You sit them down, and divulge everything that had been kept inside, feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted. Damn it feels good.

The second--you're in the other seat of this secluded table. Hearing how this person's life is hell, speaking to them as if yours isn't. The coffee is quickly chugged, like a cough syrup helping you keep the croup in. And now you use this paper cup for distraction. Pretending to be so intent on folding it perfectly, that you can't look up for eye contact. Because eye contact is detrimental; it's just a little window into your soul, into the truth that not a single person loves the life they have.

These little meetings, they're small but heart-wrenching. God, you feel like a new person in there. Alive again, something you haven't felt in so long. A feeling you promised you'd never let go of.

But then came that first step back onto the cement--the damp cement. It had began raining, pouring actually. And while we would've liked to turn around for another brew, I went left and she went right, never once looking back.
Last edited by Cyclones41 at Nov 7, 2008,
Thats gonna be some long song. Its like a story. Good though.
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thanks for the crit.

i would crit this properly, but i did your other one, and im quite tired i had a lot to crit tonight, and prose is the hardest for me.

i like this, although some of the ideas feel under-developed.
(Because windows provide little glimpses at how others' lives are worse off than your own.) really pointed that out to me. maybe get rid of some of the less needed parts, and expand on that, and others, especially the parts in parenthesis.

how can you fold a cup?

at the end, it felt like there wasnt a resolution. the last paragraph felt pointless, or unfinished.

good job, like it.
Thanks for the crit. I've changed parts of it, including the ending. I'm not quite done editing, but it's all I could do at the time. You can fold a cup because it's a paper cup I changed that part. Thanks again for the critique! I'll keep an eye out for one of yours.