Latt'e

Before the cup even reached her lips, Sam felt the warmth and glow of its foamy brew. She siddled back into her choice oversized chair and sank into its cushions. She smiled. Tension seemingly drained from her joints. Her head cleared. The sounds of jazz music caressed her ears with the sweet notes of a grand old piano and soft brass playing. Each instrument loomed over the other, as if warring for their listener's rapt attention. But somehow, in some strange fashion, the effect was pleasant.

She stretched; rested her head on the floral print arm; sighed. The coffee in her hand, almost too hot, warmed the frost from her fingertips with a pulsing ebb. This was luxury.

After a long and strenuous morning, this was the kind of relaxation people paid big bucks for, and all she'd given was 3.99 and the time it took to walk down the street, Hot latte and sweet sugar from a stereo speaker- This was the sort of peace Lennon sang about. After all, who could be sad in a coffee shop?