Dollar bill

I enjoyed my coffee finally; it was perfect. Not too bitter, not too sweet, but a perfect balance between the two. It was two days before Christmas. She was looking for ice-cream in the frozen aisle and I was sipping my drink, waiting. The shoppers were buying their Christmas foods and goodies, chocolates and sweets, Christmas cards and Santa hats, Champaign bottles and expensive wines. There was no line for caffeine addicts like myself; the little Starbucks inside the grocery store was practically empty. Just as I was savoring my last sip, she showed up, holding a bucket of ice-cream, and told me to get up. Outside, a woman in a Santa hat was asking for donations. I didn’t have a dollar bill.

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