JJ
Saturday mornings usually gave me enough noise to hide inside.
The shop woke up differently on weekends. During the week, people drifted in tired from work or trying to squeeze appointments between errands. Saturdays had a different pulse. Louder. Messier. More impatient.
Someone always showed up with a coffee in one hand and a bad idea in the other, ready to permanently commemorate a breakup, a birthday, or a tequila-fueled revelation they would absolutely regret by Tuesday.
Normally, I liked it.
Busy meant my hands had something to do. It meant conversations layered over music, machines buzzing from every station, clients laughing too loudly while pretending they weren’t nervous. It meant less room in my head for everything I didn’t want to think about.
This morning, my mind r
