“Chocolate soy chai latte, please.” Joe couldn’t believe it. This was Joe’s Diner. How could she say that? Decaf was as far as he went, grudgingly.
But she was cute, in an odd way. Black lipstick. Green fingernails. Five-colored hair. She was probably a vegetarian. Joe was a bacon and beef guy. Still, he wanted to please her. He leaned over the counter, making sure she could spot the name stitched on his hat.
“I could make you a cocoa.”
“With soy milk?” She beamed.
He sighed. “Got no soy milk. That’s not real milk.”
She sat back and folded her arms. “That’s the point, Joe. I’m lactose intolerant.”
It was over before it began.
Harley Crowley has eliminated most of the distractions in her life and has been enjoying writing short fiction, frequently in coffee shops with a croissant on a plate and writing companions at her side. She’s having to cut back on the croissants. She lives with her husband (her one remaining distraction) in Bellingham, WA.