Apr 18
A4. The Wrong Coffee
A woman before him orders a thin coffee. Then him — the usual.
I make his first. Naturally, his first. Bring it to him, while she is still waiting.
He tastes it, looks up: “Is this mine? It tastes … different.”
My face grows hot. I’ve switched the coffees.
“Sorry, I’ll make a new one right away.”
He smiles: “It’s fine.”
But I know: my mistake has given me away. I don’t treat him like a guest — and now he might sense it.
Who are we, when I forget my role in front of him?
