Wasted Pages 2

[I interrupt the story that may never be finished to note that I may actually start writing actual blog entries that are not vague and mostly not personal. I'm officially bored of writing diary stuff. I'm gonna try to keep myself practiced in creative writing and opinion stuff. Though it'll still be really informal and randomly updated. Its not like anyone reads this anyway. Now back to a teensy bit of an extension.]

"Um, in a good way or a bad one?"

"Neutral. I thought you were younger."

"Haha, I guess that's a compliment."
"Not necessarily."

Before he can respond, a customer arrives. The bell above the door jingles softly alerting us to the presence of a tall, strong looking woman who made the cafe her personal catwalk. From the short conversation I caught between her and Gavin, she was a local business owner who came every day for her lunchtime coffee and a croissant. Her name was Isabel. The scent of cigarettes wafted after her and her voice was soft and barely audible. She waited patiently for her things, and I saw a five dollar bill drop in to the tip jar. Then she was gone as quickly as she came.
"Now, that's an admirable person. She works even when she's on her break. Its because she has to take care of her mother and her business is just starting to take off." Gavin smiles and leans over the counter. "The antique place, its hers. The one across the street."

[I'm so tired from work and I have another long shift tomorrow so I'm stopping now but there'll be more.]