Poppyseed: short story

He ordered a coffee and muffin every morning at 10am without fail. One coffee, black with three sugars.

One muffin, poppyseed, glazed. Day in and day out, rain or shine, he whooshed in from the street in his black ankle boots and his tight khaki pants, his pastel button-ups with an embroidered alligator on the pocket, arms covered in tattoos depicting everything from snakes to Celtic runes, his grin so wide and crooked it almost reached to his ears, his sun-tech eye glasses automatically tinted against the morning sun.


Part 2

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