Wrangler Dani

So the ever-creative Mandy Thompson gave this writing prompt on her bloggity-blog the other day, and I’m kind of proud of what I could come up with in five minutes, so here it is:

The cold damp of a pre-dawn breeze ruffles my hair and the boxes of cups and lids and straws in my arms. I struggle with the lock, wondering why I never remember to fix it until cold foggy mornings with too much stuff in my arms.

The door finally swings open and I’m greeted with the coffeeshop smells of bleach and syrup and coffee beans, all blended together into eau-de-Monday-morning-at-5:30.

I turn on the coffee grinder and it whirs to life, banishing all other smells with its warm, fresh, caffienated pungency. I take out my Open sign, put away my bundles of cups, begin to hum a morning tune.

I am interrupted by the rough, choking sound of a diesel gravel truck outside my window. I stick my head out to see Greg’s smiling, red face – he already looks as though he’s put in a full day’s work. “Just a lil’ coffee, and some cream if you can spare it, darlin’” he says, as he does every morning, tipping his battered ball cap to me like an old-fashioned gentleman and disappearing back into the darkened cab for a dollar for his coffee and a quarter for me.