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May 14, 2011
The carafe was tipped down, ready to replenish Jim's brew.
He covered his chalk white cup a moment too late.
A couple drops slid out of the spout and pooled in the crevice between his second and third fingers.
They were quickly absorbed by his skin and the tiny black hairs on the top of his hand.
The waitress shook her head.
Greasy red curls moved back and forth as she offered her apologies.
"Messes up the cream to coffee ratio," Jim told his companion.
Yellow lamps appeared to go on forever outside.