The Little Four Story Cafe

   There I was in the seat by the windowsill, waiting for my beloved. I held roses in my hand and a ring in my pocket. I watched and waited there for two hours, but she still didn't come. I watched the cars pass by. I watched the street bikers and taxis. I watched the sidewalk walkers and joggers alike. The sky was dismal and I was as tense as ever. Still no sign of her. Back then I was a reporter for the New York Times Daily Paper and had fallen in love on the job. She was the love of my life and I wanted to make her mine. But while I was waiting for my chance a strange man walked in. He held his hand in his pocket a funny way. But before I could realize what he was about to do, tragedy struck.

   I was young at the time. Only twenty and with an infant of only three months. I sat there that the small table drinking my coffee and studying for the big exam on next Tuesday. I read over notes and wondered what the square root of 123 was if it even had a square root at all. I was thinking of meeting up with my brother after this when I saw a crazed looking man walking in. He looked as though he had something in his pocket. But before I could get the whole story about this man, tragedy struck.

   It was the eleventh day of September and I was walking in to my favorite café. As I walked in I saw a rag tagged man walking out with his fresh slice of cherry pie to go in front , an ink stained face reporter to my left, and a young mother with her baby and a piping hot cup of coffee to my right. Then as I was walking to the counter, tragedy struck.

   I didn't know what day it was. I had no knowledge of the time. All I knew was that I had a piece of cherry pie in front of me. I had just bought it with a dollar I found on the streets that day. It was the first real thing that I had eaten in about a week. The café I got it from smelled like old perfume that my grandmother would wear. As I was walking out of that tiny little place I looked up and saw smoke.