Spiced eddies twisted as he swirled the red coffee straws, their aroma rising to his nostrils and creeping into his mind to spark memories.

The last time they had been together, his best friend had been about to leave the country. Bound for the south, he had worried about money and food and communication (his linguistic skills sadly lacking) but had never voiced anticipations of revolutionaries. Shouldering his pack, he had drained his cinnamon- and cayenne-laced coffee, grinning at the contrast of the earthy flavors. The contented hum of the café patrons drowned out those last words, but his lips read, ”... two years…” And he stepped outside, the door shutting him out.

Drinking the spiced coffee deeply, he looked out the window. It was raining just as it had before, the sight framed by greenery both inside and outside the building. Shivering a little, he shouldered his pack and left his almost empty mug on the table. As he stepped outside, the door closed on the hum of the café. Then he headed south.

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