Flash: Spare Time

In the old café time moves in different ways. This is not just the general sluggishness of a Monday or the happy hilarity of a Saturday, nor is it weather dependent. I went in once for a hot chocolate and came out a week later. I admit I savoured my beverage and relished the warmth of my surroundings but I won’t take responsibility for losing a week. It was difficult to explain to work and even harder to justify to my husband.
 

Another visit made up for it. I was running late for a meeting but was tempted in by the welcoming owner, who is friendly and forgetful and sometimes gets my order wrong but actually always gets it right, in that whatever he brings is exactly what I want, even if I may not have realised it myself. Anyway, this day all I could get away with was a cheeky espresso, to fuel my way through a hectic day. The owner was pouring my drink before I was through the door and was holding that same door for me as I rushed on my way a minute later. When I got to my meeting all ready with various excuses and apologies I had actually gone back in time and was a week early. Ah, the wonderful guilt-free decadence of an extra week. But that is another story for another time.