She stood in weather not as yet cold, but with enough chill to warrant her vintage fur and a white styrofoam cup of coffee in her hand.
She fingered through her racks of vintage, YSL, Celine, Burberry as if she come to peace with parting with them to another soul, like me.
Little did she know, we had coffee in common, a bridge that soon deepen our eventful connection. I loved the history in her face, it told me that she held countless cups of coffee and even more stories to go along with it.
I had the time to hear them.