Dear Ian,
Henry is quite the opposite from a booth boob. He came to the diner early in the morning and to my surprise, he was dressed in a Sheriffs uniform, freshly shaved, and neatly groomed like last nights events didn't occur. To an even bigger surprise, he remembered who I was, even when he was practically blacked out when he met me.
'You're new here, aren't you?' He asked me, sitting on the barstool instead of the booth.
'Yeah, I moved here a couple of weeks ago.'
'Really? This doesn't seem like a town a person would be interested in moving to.'
'I just go where the wind takes me, I guess.'
Maybe I just caught Henry at a bad time? Maybe he wasn't an alcoholic? He looked just like any other Sheriff around here. I just think I'm so wrong for misjudging people that are going through a hard time. I couldn't help but think, I was a lot like Henry the first time we met. Henry up and early, smiling through the tears, and fixed up through his hangover gave me courage. If he could do it, why can't I? I'm tired of crying over things like some baby. But I couldn't help but wonder what he was crying and drinking over. I wish you were here to see him and see what I'm seeing.
Love,
Dawn
YOU ARE READING
Coffee
Short Story"Let me guess, you want to order coffee again?" "You know it." "Something tells me the only reason you come to my diner everyday is for the free coffee, not me." "Shouldn't it be that way?" "Name one thing you love more than coffee." "You."
