The coffee steams intricate patterns into the air flowing designs.
Encountering easy access exits, plans beset their origins and wanderous craftery is settled comfortably in the main area of the right cortex.
Looking into the eyes of the clerk, her thoughts speak:
“I can see your blood splattered all over the wall behind you. Perhaps even your fingers set in
cute patterns.. so on… and so forth.”
Her mouth gives out a different tune.
“Give me a rum with ice, two napkins, four toothpicks, and the bill.”
Until now, the scan of the room has undergone construction.
If victim number one were to find demise, victim number two would certainly be the young lady
in the corner with the Minute Maid Vodka Mix and plaid blouse.
Three would not even be existent after rage and wrath would rule out possibility.
Perhaps she should have just continued boxing.
On her walk out, a muffled sound of a motorcycle awakens her senses.
A passing image of shine and chrome tickles her fancy.
The male glances slightly as if to not give too much attention to her black high heels.
A lick of the lips, a coffee talk, and three rums later, she straddles the back of the motorcycle and plans the rest of the night settled comfortably in the main area of the left cortex.
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