Sheila

| writing | fiction |

Sheila was a girl that knew no bounds. She left her home when she was six and she never looked back. One day a man came by and he was looking for her, but no one knew where the hell she had gone. He stopped along the road in search of a place where he could get a cup of coffee and was met with several options.

He could go to the place on the corner of 7th and W. Where the coffee is always rich and pure. Poured by the virtuous hands of an elderly El Salvadorian immigrant by the name of Clarissa. She took pride in the coffee that she poured and made sure that every cup tasted like it was ground fresh.

Then there was always the over priced, understaffed, flavorless and dirty excuse for coffee on the corner of 6th and Madison Ave. There was no way in hell he was going to go there. As soon as you walk in you are met by peeling wallpaper slowly crawling off of the wall in an attempt to escape from that dungeon.

Across the street from that there is a starbucks. The stereotypical kind, with the sad asian girl making the drinks and her preppy gay friend taking the orders.

Life is full of difficult decisions. Luckily this one was not that difficult to make. He did not want to support the corporate agenda so Starbucks was out of the picture. Even if it did have some of the most charming people working there. The Dungeon was the last thing on his mind. He decided to go for the home grown stuff and the choice was a good one.

Clarissa greeted him with a smile. “Hola Senior, how are you doing today?”

“Great” He replied.

“What you want honey?” Said Clarissa.

“I’ll take a cup of the house blend, with extra sugar no cream” he said. Clarissa quickly began to work and fill his cup with some of the most delicious looking coffee that he has ever laid his eyes upon. As if poured out of the pot you can taste the steam coming out and the crisp smell of coffee began to fill his nostrils. For the first time all day he was satisfied.

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