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Eggplant woke up in the morning after 8 restless hours of sleep, excited for the day. Fruit camp.
To those who don't know, fruit camp is a place where the little incoming freshmen of Fruit Academy go to get to know each other by playing games and spend the night in the refrigerator.
"Finally! I get to see Cantaloupe! And all those other guys.. um Watermelon, Apricot, other Apricot, that guy Pineapple, oh and all those damn kids from Saint Apple's," Eggplant chuckled to herself.
She quickly undresses and pulls on her white V-neck shirt and her signature red koolats. She pulls on her grey TOMS, grabs her phone, and heads out her room, texting Radish.
HAAAAY GIRRLL. ARE YOU PUMPED OR WHAT? DEM BOYSS WILL BE ALL OVER USSSS
Whatever you say. Good luck with Cantaloupe today, by the way.
All "dem" boys will probably be annoying as hell.
Awwww you party pooper. Just you wait and see dear
JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE.
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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