green tip, slow amble, good coffee
fiction
edward w pritchard
Green tip, slow amble, good coffee. The girl repeated it twice when dazed she stumbled into camp.
She was very beautiful.
Next morning I dumped out the coffee I had made her when I saw her with another cup. Hours later I espied Winslow and Myers standing outside the infirmary each carrying coffee and other embellishments for her. They looked ridiculous.
Before she left she smiled at me once because I am sure she saw me with the cup for her yesterday.
I went back to my tent and wondered what she was like. I so lonely here.
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