The trials of Miss Barnes.

I look up as the man with green eyes and a slight tint of pink to his cheeks brings what seems to be another cup of coffee to my table. "From the man right there, " he points to the corner on his right and standing there is a short, chubby, Italian man that waves in our direction with a smile on his face. "Thank you" I say to what appears to be my waiter "Sure thing " he says and with that he leaves to attend to another person. I look back at my table and stare at my laptop with what I’m hoping isn’t fear on my face for at least 5 minutes before snapping out of whatever trance I was in. I come to this restaurant every weekend and sit in this very corner as I write down what transpired in my life during the course of the week. It relaxes me. And writing things down makes me feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I try not to think too much about the coffee I just received because whether you believe it or not, it’s something that makes me uncomfortable. I take one last glance at the cup sitting right in front of me and before I can even come up with another thought, I leave the restaurant.