A cup was filled with coffee. Jean-Michel Pinot added two teaspoons of sugar and a dash of soy milk, purchased of course at a small deli and made that morning by the owner of the deli. His therapist was a strong supporter of natural foods and not eating animal products whenever possible. He did not have such strong feelings about avoiding coffee, however, as she probably brewed about five or six pots over the course of the day. True, the majority of the coffee was given to clients, but Dr. Rosenbaum had her fair share.
“Looks like somebody’s just about ready to have tea for two, or maybe tea for two hundred by the looks of it. I wasn’t planning on bringing a small army with me – was there something you hadn’t told me, Jean-Michel?” That was Kate, standing behind him.
Browsing somewhere around the self-help section, Felix felt two hands cover his eyes. He then heard what he assumed to be the voice of the person to whom the hands belonged say, “I’m going to give you three guesses, and one of them had better be right.”
Sandy stared straight up at her ceiling as she lay on her back, which seemed a bit silly as her room was mostly dark, other than a tiny patch of light that was coming in through her window. Friday seemed particularly long this week, but this was probably related to how early Shabbos came in and that she had some people in her apartment that night for a meal.
Klaus, walking briskly along 41st Street heading towards Bryant Park, nearly tripped over one of his shoelaces. It simply wasn’t worth the rush if he was going to get there early but with a bruised face from having landed face first on the sidewalk.
The Peculier Pub is not particularly peculiar in any way other than how it has a large number of incredibly delectable beers on tap yet somehow manages to attract a myriad of people who come in to spend their money on watered down commercial American swill, the sort that would generally be found in large kegs at parties with people all around it doing hand stands and trying to drink as much as possible without getting alcohol poisoning.
Klaus blinked. It was another few minutes before he would even open his mouth to speak, but he quickly shut it again. This wasn’t surprising to Jean-Michel. What was surprising was that a woman had gone as far as to write down her name and contact information in Klaus’ notebook of poetry. He imagined that under different circumstances, Klaus would have been rather unhappy that somebody had written in his notebook. This kind of writing, though, just about anyone would have been happy with. Klaus stuck out his hand, not even looking at Jean-Michel. Jean-Michel responded by putting the notebook in his hand.