Just A Minute

#An exert from my current short story "Just a Minute".

Coffee beneath your nose plumed into roses. With an acrid tang, it's steam burns on every inhale. Beads of condensation collect, as if to mirror the drops gathering on the window. Grey water washes down the window panes. Outside, umbrellas fly. Your oversized coat clings to your skin, just like your wet jeans and wet top, wet shoes and wet socks. You sit, with frozen fingers entwined, itching on your chair.

“You really have no clue who I am?” the taut voice had asked. It resonated in your mind, the memory assailed by strident calls and raucous laughter, chairs grating across the wooden flooring, car horns, a child’s whine, footfalls and coffee cups. And the drumming. The drumming of fingers on the mug across from you, impatient, like an exasperated tap dance of keys that itched on a keyboard. You look up to see the pleading look on their face is yet to diminish, before hastily diverting your eyes.