Coffee Shop in London

London was one of those places where wages come to die. When considering the price of a regular soya milk latte and my hourly rate at work, it’s enough to cause a mental break down. So I avoid thinking about it as I add a sweetener to my coffee. Needless to say, my Topshop fixation was promptly K.O’d by my dependency on caffeine. I spent most my time in this coffee shop (my strong B at GCSE Math indicated that buying a coffee each time I came, in exchange for their WiFi, was cheaper than buying my own WiFi. Albeit, it may be cheaper to just buy shares in the coffee shop. Then again, Math never was my subject. The only numbers I have any patience to deal with is Word Counts and deadlines; apparently, I’m not too good at keeping to them either.
My current knowledge of numbers is that I have a 1000-word article due in five hours, I only have thirty-four so far. Which, in fact, is thirteen less than when I came in.

The shabby, little coffee shop had undoubtedly seen better days - the same could be said for the staff too. Their usual cliental was middle aged women on coffee dates, attempting to re-live their better days, or Tumblr-famous-wannabes that couldn’t really afford to be anywhere else. 

Today, at I-need-another-coffee-o-clock, the shop was sparse of business. There is me, bundled in the corner by the book shelf that is stocked with gossip magazines; two middle-aged women, regulars; then a boy, he was new. He had mousy brown hair in a messy, tousled style and rounded egg shell spectacles. He was one of those Tumblr types. 

Four words on and I had made a conclusion. I needed another coffee. I only had 60 pence in my purse but I was certain I had enough on my card.
“One regular, soya milk latte, please Jill.”

“Staying in?”

“When do I ever leave?” Jill chuckled to herself as she tried to tuck her tummy in so she could get into the kitchenette. I played with my nails as I waited. I had three-day old, teal coloured nail polish on, I had already pecked off my left ring finger and thumb. 

“If you keep pecking there will be nothing left,” it was the boy, “an Americano when you’re ready, Jill.” 

“That’s the plan, I spend too much money on coffee to buy nail polish remover.” I smiled, hoping I didn’t sound too defensive. I had a tendency to sound defensive when I was attempting to be funny.

“How about you let me get this round?” It was imperative. At least I tell myself it was imperative as an excuse for not objecting to letting him pay. 

He leaned over as he passed a twenty pound note to Jill, he was taller than I had anticipated. I almost told him so.

We stood in silence, basking in each other’s presence. I wanted to say something, something witty. Something clever. Something that verbally paid him back for the coffee. Before I could, Jill handed him is Americano, then he left. Simply.


The coffee scalded my mouth as I tried to drink it on the way back to my little spot in the corner. It tasted sweeter this time, despite the scarcity of sugar.

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