Alone, seated, with warm coffee growing cooler with every ticking away of time. Marshall once left his finger in a cup of coffee from the time he poored to the time it cooled. He wanted to know how long it took a cup of coffee to cool in Connecticut. Maybe it was different from Texas.
Surrounded he was by a young man's dream. A quaint and sometimes too cold coffee shop, and surrounding him were women. Ladies of all sorts, and maybe some of them didn't deserve to be called ladies, but his grandparents had taught him better. He liked meeting the people he would eventually loathe first.
But back to the women, he didn't need this. He really didn't. His physique didn't match his age. He enjoyed exercising, and the workouts had been kind to him, except maybe that evening.
Sitting alone, next a dulling cup of coffee, reading from a book who's auther's name was printed in bulky, bright red letters - Moorcock.
It sounds exactly the way it's spelled.
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