A drabble is a 100-word story. This line doesn’t count. I wrote one about the stylish vet, another about the best possible PJ companion. This one is older.
A visit to his daughter. We enter the trailer. She’s in there with a colleague. Gypsy-looking. They have upturned coffee cups, inspecting the grounds.
The gypsy looks straight into my eyes.
“Why doesn’t she do it, I can see she knows how.”
You must know that about me: I’m of earth and the sea, I can land an ear and offer a perspective, but I don’t do it this way.
The shock doesn’t show.
I take the cup and feel his eyes widen.
“There will be a three-way, and you will stick to the middle.”
Such fraud. Unless it’s Freud.
About photo: Bosnian-style coffee serving with a Drina in Das ist Valter, Ljubljana, Slovenia.