Cafes were a good enough way to pass the time. Human drama unfolding outside the window, watching everybody pass by, living out their lives, lost in themselves, acting as though they were unobserved. They gave away clues, hints, promises - she could learn enough about them to become them in the time it took her coffee to cool.

Or perhaps she created them, watching them pass by - that man there, he was meeting his lover, the new young man in his office. His brother (he lived with his brother, and a dog) didn't know, and he was terrified that he'd find out, that he'd reject him. His brother wouldn't care, would just be glad that he was happy, would make an ill-judged but well-meant joke about not worrying about him stealing his chicks.

She gave them happy endings, in the way that real life couldn't.

She was waiting for someone, although she wasn't certain who it was. She'd know them when she saw them - it could be a boy, could be a girl, could be somewhere in between. She didn't know - but she would, one day.

She sipped her coffee, warming her hands, waking herself up, finding someone new to create - that girl there, hand in hand with her boyfriend, she was going to discover something important, she was going to write an amazing treatise, the world would learn from her, it would learn so much. The boyfriend would paint something unspeakably beautiful.

That little boy there, he was going to get a puppy - find one, one that needed love - they would have untold adventures, a world of joy and laughter, exploring the countryside as only a child can.

She gave them stories, but kept nothing back for herself. It was alright - somebody else would give her hers.