The barista flips the
sign to Closed, but the
lights stay on for
another twenty minutes.
She sits by the window
with a cup she stopped
drinking an hour ago,
watching people pass with
umbrellas they didn't
need.
A man at the counter
asks for the Wi-Fi
password like he's been
coming here for years.
Maybe he has. She
wouldn't know. Everyone
here is someone she
almost recognizes.
The rain starts for real
around nine. She stays
until the barista starts
wiping tables near hers,
then gathers her things
without finishing the
coffee. Outside, the
street is wet and
ordinary and somehow
exactly what she needed.
She walks home slower
than usual. The coffee
shop stays lit behind
her, then doesn't.