she sits and shreds the napkin slowly.
it is noon.
she has waited for an hour.
the bottom of the cup
with its dregs of coffee
seems to wink up at her
saying, he's not coming.
but she knows this.
her book lies on the table
accusingly. she has not touched
it. she knows what she will
find in her own handwriting
in its pages.
the coffee shop door tinkles
and she looks up, not
really expecting to see
him. she is not wrong.
she looks away.
even the shop clerk knows
and she fingers the
print on her shirt.
"Dump Him."
the napkin lies in a
pile of finely ravished confetti.
she grabs her book and leaves.
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