Sam 2020
The coffee from the vending machine, down the hall from Veronica's hospital room, tastes like mud slung into a paper cup with milk added in an attempt to disguise the foul flavour. I'd been spoiled for choice for many years, I guess, Veronica being a coffee snob and insisting we get the top-of-the-line machine for our home, the one that made barista-style coffee, and you can taste the rich, bold flavour with every sip, making take-away coffee pale in comparison.
The image of my beautiful girl, dancing around our small kitchen in her underwear as she made us breakfast in London, filled my mind as I wandered back to the room. Her gorgeous smile radiating, and her hips swaying to Shake it Off. I stood in the doorway to our kitchen and watched her move. She didn't notice me until I
