The overhead speaker’s dissonance of Carole King
interjects the mood, although they never show it.
The students who come all share a common interest:
The Ivy League school or the historic Culinary Institute.
They’re mingling and chatting in a caffeinated, scurried way.
Sipping hot lattes and typing sentences with each swallow, to.
The front door flappers slap another string of
clientele through into the pinball café.
The balls bounce around from counter to cashier to chair,
and once in a while a laptop pops up.
Someone chooses a CD from the rack and orders a tall mocha latte.
Although they never say it, the aroma sways them all in the mood.