narrow counter of an unmarked coffee shop, three laminate stools, a pass-through to a back kitchen, fluorescent strip above the service area buzzing faintly, no signage visible anywhere — cup just set down, leaving a faint ring on the laminate — her hand still lowering, not yet released, half-eaten roll on plate beside it
The coffee was a dollar fifty and the pot had been going since before I got there.
white ceramic diner mug of black diner coffee, faint brown ring on cream laminate beside it, half-eaten kaiser roll on a plain white plate
No name I could find on any app. Counter, three stools, none of them claimed. I stood and drank it while the man behind wiped the same section of counter twice without looking up. The coffee left a faint ring on the laminate when I set the cup down. I ordered a roll I didn't need, ate half of it, left the rest. The man took the plate without comment.
hand-lettered hardware store sign above an open storefront, broom leaning against the outer wall at street level, Ridgewood brick facade behind
Wyckoff at eight on a Tuesday runs itself. The hardware store already open, the same hand-lettered sign, a broom leaning against the outer wall in a position that suggested it had been there since at least my first visit. The crossing guard at Gates was at her post, watching the empty intersection.
a corner bodega in a low two-story brick commercial strip, refrigerator units along one wall, wire shelving, a milk crate near the glass-front coolers — stopped mid-aisle, not shopping — her gaze dropped to the orange-striped cat sitting in the milk crate, the moment just before she decides whether to crouch or move on
Drizzle by eight-thirty. Fine enough to be easy to ignore, insistent enough that it eventually wasn't. I kept walking west, the hardshell clicking faintly behind me on the uneven pavement. The bodega cat was sitting in a milk crate near the refrigerators, a stripe of orange across one ear.
end of a dead-end side street in a low-density residential block, a chain-link corner fence, a loading bay shutter pulled down, the street terminating in nothing particular — turning back from the dead end — carry-on just pulled off the wet asphalt, body mid-pivot, the street she came from ahead of her, the loading bay shutter behind
I turned north somewhere before the border, not because I'd planned to but because the street looked like it went somewhere. It didn't, particularly. A loading bay, a wall, a chain-link corner. I turned back.
Wet reflections in patches on the asphalt. The block looking exactly like itself. The carry-on made a different sound on the wet pavement than it had on dry.
What she wore
day7-scene1
I wore the wrap skirt because it's the easiest thing to put on at seven-something when you're not quite ready to decide anything yet.
day7-scene2
The drizzle came in around nine so I pulled the olive shirt on and kept walking — it's light enough that it doesn't feel like a concession.
day7-scene3
I changed into the trousers before the car came — not because I had to, but because trousers feel like a decision, and leaving requires one.