I drifted down a thoroughfare.

I was ghosted by an internet date.

My car broke down on the 501;

I sipped a latte as if to cry in a glass of wine;

just my fucking luck; heaven released tears

as though a big brother had empathy

for me, or was rubbing in my pain.

The disgrace of pressing

through the doors without a date

tugged at my self-esteem.

I couldn’t find a lover in a small cafe.

A car pulled off the road.

“Sorry, I’m late,” the voice of my date said.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Website: https://drinkcoffeewrite.online

Twitter: AC0040