Plush beads of summer rain gently kiss the windows, pitter pattering steadily in contrast to the low hums and stutters of the red coffee *** that saves many souls lost in a daze of former slumber; a lengthy stretch, she leans back against the cream, or maybe more ivory, sofa couch, wiggling it up and down her frame and in its last push released with a crack through the tips of her toes.
scrumptious smells of eggs and breakfast meats, brunch is always her favorite hour, balancing the crisp texture of toast against the delightful spritz of OJ, sometimes blended with a splash of something sparkling.
the chords and rhythms that thrummed and purred, the puttering, the humming, the stuttering, a baritone chuckle escaping his smirking mouth, the moment so inescapably charming, how satisfying their ritual felt.