Coffee Time Stories

6 Angel

  Where did he come from? He was like an angel sent from heaven just for her. She’d only sat at the same table because the coffee shop was so fucking full and her feet were fucking killing her. He moved his bag and coat from the chair and smiled with his eyes as she sat down. It was the first smile she’d seen that day. Cute as he was, she hoped to god he wouldn’t speak to her. She really didn’t need a meaningless conversation with a stranger, she just wanted a coffee and some peace and quiet; some ‘me’ time. To her relief the smile on his face subsided as his head went back down into his book. She tried to empty her mind, she breathed in, he smelt good, she didn’t know what it was but the aftershave was pleasing to her senses. It somehow complemented the coffee she was drinking creating the perfect ambience, it was like have a bath with scented candles. She watched the stranger, he had a pleasing face, it responded so nicely to what he was reading, a little smile, a frown, all flitting across his face like little dance movements. She felt the weight of the world that she had carried round all day fall off her shoulders. But all too soon she had to make a move, re-enter the rat race. She dragged herself away from the stranger’s face. As she was leaving she heard a voice ring out.

  ‘Excuse me miss, miss!’  it was smooth, like melted chocolate, like a vocal cwtch. She looked around, it was the angel and he was holding out her purse.

  ‘You dropped this lady.’ She smiled, as she took the purse their fingers touched.

  ‘Thank you, what’s your name?’ She didn’t know why she asked him, it just came out.

  ‘David.’

  ‘Thank you, you’re a saint David.’

 

  7 Clocks go Forward

  That horrible day when the clocks change, one fewer hour in the day but paradoxically the day feels longer with the light lasting long past its bedtime and the body clock struggling to adapt. To make it worse, spring was still tightly coiled; short flurries of snow were carried in on the bitterly cold wind. The weather seemed to reflect the mood.

  Except for heavily armed gangs of police, the streets were largely deserted, the crackdown of the day before coupled with the cold weather saw to that. People chose to stay indoors, in the warm, away from the twin threats of police brutality and frostbite. There were a few people milling around, braving the police presence, braving the weather but as Anna watched the street from her window, it seemed to her that even the ‘public’ were actually police. The ‘plainclothes’ just a little too plain; a little too conspicuous.  

  The whole thing stank to high heaven. A morally bankrupt government using force to maintain an authority they had lost months before.

  Peaceful protest. That is what it had been, a peaceful protest. People had carried flowers and played music, they sang and danced, they brought colour and life to the grey austerity imposed by the defunct regime. But in contrast to the protesters’ gaiety the police had wielded guns and threats. Not idle threats either; in a blink of an eye what had been a carnival turned into a bloodbath. Anna had no idea what triggered it, from her vantage point high up in her building it had looked like a premeditated plan. The police went in like rampaging elephants; the protesters stood no chance. Anna didn’t know the figures but she’d seen casualties and corpses - too many to count.

  The clocks had gone forward but Anna wondered if they had anything to look forward to, if the country she’d loved for 70 years had taken a giant step backwards.