Brewing Conspiracy

The hot coffee warmed my conscience as much as it did my palette. I stared straight ahead looking at my distorted reflection in the napkin holder on the diners counter. It was a vacant stare, no purpose, just calm resonance as I took repeated sips.

My mid-day mind bend was broken by a young couple to my right. They were huddled closely sharing hushed tones of conversation. Loud enough however that I could parse a context.

My coffee cup departed my lips as I directed my attention to my auditory senses and ever so subtly leaned in their direction.

“I am telling you they know.” He said staring deeply into her now watering eyes.

“How is that possible? We’ll never escape now.” She said breaking the visual connection and resting her forehead against his chest.

The young man looked up briefly as an elderly gentleman entered the diner and took a seat at the end of the counter.

The young man said. “Remember this number 503…”

“Refill?!” The waitress said fracturing my interception.

“No.” I said exasperated.

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