We both reached for the last oat milk latte at the café stand, laughed, and you insisted I have it. I wanted to thank you properly but you were already gone, blending into the lunchtime crowd. Coffee on me next time?
You sang "Stand by Me" with your guitar, and the whole car clapped—except me, mesmerized by your voice and too shy to look up. If you felt the same spark, let’s make some music together off the rails.
You dropped your red scarf in the poetry aisle while frantically searching for Bukowski. I picked it up, but you disappeared behind a wall of vintage postcards. Maybe we can swap scarves and recommendations over coffee?
