Haute couture

At the coffee machine.

Coins clanking when they touch another metal. Settling with the familiar, which we do not hear. But they exist am sure.

Bonjours and kisses in the air.

So I pick up my cup and stand by the window.

The window is to be shared I see, when someone walks over. I move to accommodate.

We sip our coffees in silence after the smile of unfamiliarity and civility.

Nice shirt, she says.

I smile and say thank you.

Unfortunately I do not find anything to reciprocate.

I look at her colorful shoes a second longer than necessary. Red, blue, yellow and was that green?

She laughs. That’s my daughter who wanted me to buy them. They go with none of my clothes, but well...

I laugh too.

How old is your daughter?

10 almost.

I smile.

As I go back to my coffee and open window, she asks, 'Do you have children?'

I tell her, 'I'm not married.'

Once again I almost return when her expectance pulls me back.
I see her question has not been answered.

'Oh. No. I do not have any children'

The French!