After my second roll of tissue and third cup of black coffee, I sobbed again and raised my finger. A waiter approached me with a flash of concern around his eyes – I hated him.
“Another roll and coffee, please.”
Owen just stripped my skin when he told me he was the father of my maid of honor’s baby. How ridiculous was it that this would happen just three days before my own wedding?
The tissue and coffee came with a flyer beside it. “Madam, tonight is our Poet’s Night; you can try…”
The coffee shop better have the best microphone for my rage-filled, slam poetry.
Check out this week’s prompt:
WORD COUNT: 105
Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.