Continued from The Life of Jamison Penn.
As Jamison exhaled, he saw his warm breath fill the air.
‘Morning,’ the man spoke with a smile.
‘Morning,’ Jamison replied back, much more reservedly than the man.
‘Working on your book?’ the man queried as his stride took him closer to the door.
Jamison thought about the suspense novel he had been working on for months and months. Would he ever finish? Would it be any good? And why had he mentioned to this man that he was trying his hand at writing. He didn’t even know the man’s name.
‘Not really. Just trying to wake up for now,’ came the croaky reply, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wake up even more.
‘Well, I’m gonna grab me some coffee,’ the man said over his shoulder as he reached out to grab the handle of the glass door into The Coffee Range.
Jamison simply gave a nod of acknowledgement.
Jamison slowly walked along the side of the building to peer into a window at just the right place. He wanted another glimpse at the man, for he thought he saw something different, something unusual about this man today. But other customers covered his every move and the man never turned back to face the outside windows of which Jamison stood near.
Oh, quit it, Jamison thought to himself. There is nothing different about him.
For the last few months, Jamison believed there was something peculiar about this well-built, dark-haired man. Something unusual. But at the same time, he could not put his finger on it. He had been wrestling back and forth in his mind but never came to any resolve about the matter. Therefore, Jamison kept telling himself to let it go and not make a big deal about what was apparently nothing anyway.
He rubbed his sleepy eyes one more time, gave a long and wide yawn with a stretch of both arms, then moved back toward the entrance of The Coffee Range.
Returning to his table that he had selected earlier, Jamison pulled the chair just slightly out, giving
himself room to lazily sit back down. He slide the crisp Sunday paper in front of him closer and opened up the front page glancing at the main headlines. With his eyes glued to the caption of the picture on the front page, Jamison slowly grabbed for his paper cup half-full of coffee. Taking a sip, he grimaced.
My coffee’s already cold? the thought jumped through his head.
Annoyed, he gradually rose from his chair, finishing the line he was reading in the paper, pushed the chair close-up to the table with his right foot, and walked up to the barista. Waiting for the person at the coffee bar to finish ordering, he glanced to his left to see the dark-haired man with the Sunday paper stretched open and covering his face. He turned to the next page with a loud rustle, as anyone would expect from the turning of the pages of any newspaper. His eyes met Jamison’s; he smiled. Jamison returned the favor sheepishly.
‘Can I help you sir?’ the lady behind the counter asked.
‘Yeah, can I get a warm-up?’
‘Sure. Was it mild or bold?’
‘Bold.’
The young woman turned to the coffee machine, pulled on the spout, and fresh brewed coffee filled to the rim of the cup. Jamison breathed in the smell through his awakened nose. A smile cracked on his face.
‘There you go, sir,’ the young woman said.
‘Thanks.’
Oh, the joy of free refills of coffee. Pay once and drink three, or four, cups. Jamison moved over to the counter space that held all the coffee ‘condiments’ – whole milk, skim milk, half and half, sugar, and all the other various extras. He took a couple of sips of his coffee to make room for extra whole milk. He was not a fan of sugar in his coffee, but he loved his extra helping of milk.
Jamison moved back towards his seat, easing the cup to his lips, making sure he did not spill the piping hot coffee on his clothes, or even more, on any part of his exposed skin. Sitting down, he took another sip, enjoying the steam rushing up his face. Again, he could not help but grin.
Propping his legs up in the seat on the other side of the table, Jamison slouched slightly and began browsing the articles on the front page again. Flipping through the rest of the paper, nothing seemed to interest him too much, other than a couple of stories about the nationwide political races stirring up.
A good twenty minutes later, with a lengthy gulp, Jamison finished off his cup of coffee.
i’ll wait a little while until the next cup, he thought to himself.
Jamison pulled his journal over, placing it on top of the newspaper. It had a black, hard, yet well-worn cover with beige, lined paper inside. It had definitely taken its toll over the past months as Jamison hardly went anywhere without it, keeping it tucked into his bag at all times. He loved journals and had been writing in them for nine years, ever since he was seventeen. Every one of the finished journals sat stacked on a bookcase in the bedroom of his studio apartment.
He opened the journal about two-thirds of the way, finding the place where he last left off. Putting his words into thought was one of his favorite things outside of sipping on coffee and reading a good fiction novel.
Sunday, November 11 – It’s Sunday and I’m at The Coffee Range again. Go figure. Nothing worth noting that has happened the past hour since awaking. I’m not sure what I want to do, what today will bring. Will probably just be another day, which is fine by my standards.
Click here to continue – The Life of Jamison Penn (Part 3)
