Please update your links. The magazine I published in folded as a result of strange and unnecessary web policies. The new story is here
The intro:
“I kept just missing her in the coffee shop. She was a short, anger-edged Wicker Park hipster with apple-red dyed hair cut in a bob, a little silver stud on her left nostril, and freckles. She always looked up and smiled, already throwing things into her backpack and on the way out the door. The other day I managed to brush her shoulder in the doorway as she was heading out and I was heading in. She almost stopped. But she just said “Sorry,” surreptitiously and bolted for the train station. Yesterday though, I caught her…”
I wrote this story some months ago, and it has my usual trope of a coffee shop in it. I seem to have finally got away from that trope in recent writing, but since I spend all my time, more or less, in coffee shops, they tend to work their way in.
