COFFEE
Aubrey’s muse returned on a Thursday. No word on where she’d been, no word on why the muse had left. Just one day, bam. The muse is back. Sitting at the kitchen table, in some random person’s red plaid shirt, and Aubrey’s underpants, drinking coffee out of a white china tea cup encircled with delicate English roses, quite unlike anything in Aubrey’s cupboards. Aubrey looked at the empty coffee pot, then back to her muse, the question evident on her face. “No,” the muse put the cup on the saucer. “I didn’t save you any and I won’t make more.”
No comments:
Post a Comment