Sunday After Church

My wife finally went through her gmail account recently and cleared out her InBox of thousands of emails that were either important and not. In the mess of wires, she found a short story I penned from back in 2009 I sent to her to edit. I forgot about the story completely and when I re-read it I couldn’t even remember the context of where it came from initially, although my own thoughts and idiosyncrasies are laced everywhere. So here it is from the archives, unedited, minus the different spelling of the male characters name (nice one, Trebec).

“Thanks.” Kaleb nods his head at the coffee girl noticing her flair: Batista’s do it Better. He blows on his chai to cool it down while thinking of certain possibilities that will never come to pass. “Nice button,” he says as he turns away sliding his eyes off her lips; she doesn’t notice him past a smile, as per the requirements in her job description. Continue reading