I find it alarmingly satisfying that I hate the couple in front of me, on line, buying coffee at 9pm on a Monday. Wrapped in matching dress-down attire, not talking, speaking through gestures designed just for them. Checking their phones for calls they might have missed, while I'm standing here, waiting, missing you. Why do they need coffee now? Will they go home? Will they have ***? Will he come first? Will they fall asleep not dreading tomorrow? I guess they can do that, they can afford it, because they have their coffee and they have a Monday night and they don't realize what they have. Me? I have a pint of ice cream, 80 bucks worth of books I'll try to read and a chance you'll be home when I call.