Purest Fiction: Morning Coffee

A semi-tractor in the street released its brakes.
The frantic author shoved at the scratchy wool blanket, then sat, bewildered.
Because the windows had no shades, she hustled into the tiny bathroom. It was unsatisfactory to scrub at the chipped sink, and she longed for her deep tub.
When she picked up her watch from the bureau, it read 8:00. She was hungry. Skipping dinner the night before had been a mistake. If she hurried, there was time to shop at the grocery store, and maybe even finish doing laundry.
The author picked up her disc player, cued it, slipped on the headphones, and descended the narrow stairs. She let herself out the back door, then checked its security. As she expected, it had locked behind her. Turning on her heel, she strode around the corner of the building, past the Dumpster of garbage, and out the alley to the main street.

“Two blocks east,” she murmured. “If I buy milk, will Ed let me store it in the restaurant refrigerators?”

No one was on the street to overhear her, and she headed east at a steady pace, drawn by the scent of coffee on the air. The store’s automatic door swung in, and she paused long enough to grab the handle of a shopping cart. Ahead stood the hot carafe of coffee, and the gray-bearded man she had seen in the restaurant at lunch the previous day.
“Good morning,” he said. “It sure is nice of the management to put out such fine coffee. I haven’t had java this good since my wife was alive.” The man dumped sugar into his cup and stirred with a plastic spoon.
The author nodded and poured herself a full foam cup of hazelnut vanilla crème.
“Say,” he continued, “the bakery is featuring cream cheese Danish today.”

“That sounds like a great way to start the morning,” the author agreed and steered her cart toward the aisles.

She would buy carefully because there was a limit to what she could carry. Her upstairs efficiency had no real kitchen, not like the homes her pursuers forced her to abandon. The alcove had a coffeemaker, and a microwave mounted under the shelves. The space for a small refrigerator held nothing.
She left the store burdened with four plastic bags. She bought instant oatmeal, a quart of milk, oranges, coffee, necessary paper goods, a bottle of the strongest multipurpose cleaning concentrate she could find, and a box of laundry detergent.
Hefting the sacks of supplies, she made her way toward the restaurant. It was almost ten, and if she were lucky, Ed would be there to let her in.

---

Purest Fiction is a short story with twelve parts. Stay tuned for the twelfth and final installment: Purest Fiction: A Parade and A Hero
Read more of my published short stories here.