Sitting at the local cafe, Tuesday's Special, Frank sips his char-black Ethiopian bean coffee. His king-sized Du Maurier slowly burns between his relaxed lips as the poison floats above him. It's his local spot -- that spot that he comes to in order to people-watch and ironically get a breath of fresh air. Problem is, the air is usually stale with cigarette smoke and day-old coffee.
The room is riddled with pictures of people -- some being relatively famous -- that had once-upon-a-time frequented the cafe. From looking at all of the photos, the most famous celebrity was Patrick Swayze. The rest of the decor consists of queer WWI airplane memorabilia and a sole wall decorated in the faces of "Have you seen this missing child?" pictures found on the back of milk boxes. That part of the room kinda gives a macabre sort of a feeling.
His black laptop computer, with the Apple symbol glowing on the back lid, sits in front of Frank. The screen is a clear white abyss that stares blankly back at Frank. Truly beautiful, if it weren't for the fact that he was trying to clear that emptiness with words as he is a writer -- supposedly a good one at that. But Frank's mind ran. It ran back to reading in bed next to Rebecca to throwing the ball to Luke, their son, and to the past week. That tumultuous last week.
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