Another Day, Another Dollar

Light foam floated on top of Christina’s coffee. She stared at it, watching the bubbles as, one by one, they popped into non-existence.

Coffee was one of the few joys in Christina’s day. She worked. Hard. At what, she would be hard-pressed to tell you. It involved sitting in a chair, typing at a computer, then rising and selling things to people, then stocking some shelves, then returning to the chair, and repeating the process over and over again. Not strenuous work, it would seem, but there was enough for three people to do comfortably; for one, it was too much. She often stayed late, unpaid. When she had asked about this, the owner had threatened to fire her.

Christina knew she needed to get to work. She would already have to stay ten minutes later, and another three minutes would be added to that for every one minute spent staring at her coffee. But it was nice, seeing those little bubbles pop. She kept staring.

When the last one disappeared, she sighed. She took a sip, tasting the burnt black drink, and got to work. Another day, another dollar.


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