“Have you left yet?” I ask, hitting the send button on my phone. The rain flicks the cover of my coffee, running into the depression in front of the hole, diluting the swings of it I take. A knot in my back twinges and I shift my backpack to avoid it. It pulls the hood covering my head, messing my already messed hair. Raindrops pull together on the screen of the phone and wipe it across my chest and stuff it in my pocket to protect it from the water. The water pooling on the sidewalk splashes whenever I take a step, getting into the fabric of my socks. The shoes may be made of canvas, but the water still manages to find a way inside.
I take another drink of diluted coffee. I can feel it as it runs down my throat and into my stomach. Even in its diluted form, it still warms you. I breath in the scent of wet leaves and try to think of some metaphorically resonant poetic lines to go with the scent and the taste of it. None come. But the scent is enough. Just a bit of autumn and just a bit of dirt. It goes well with the coffee on my palette. Coffee and autumn mingle comfortably, and I let them with another swig.
As a Fedex truck drives by, I move to the inside of the sidewalk, trying to avoid the splash from its tires. And I do. Somewhere a bird chirps and a cool breeze blows through the nearby trees. I smile softly and pull out my phone to check it. No messages. Just one sent.
“Have you left yet?” I asked.
“Either way,” I thought to myself. “Yes.”