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It waits for a FriendIt waits for a friend
The powerfull ight of the Moon, cold as a deemons sole busts thru the old darkness of time, for it to be broken by a light not warmer than darkness itself. The fog lais quietly on ground of the forist, no star in the sky. And inn the darkness itself, there dwells a Pokemon, from what thy have said to to look more fearsome than fear itself,a Pokemon from that from what hase been told to be the eval in creature, A Pokemon of eturnal daarkness, a Darcilolo. The legands, from the darkness of this pokemon, have been longer than emagination could make them. But what is to be tru and what is to be spunn by the feare of humans, is not for us to know.Cause fear letts things to bee seen that never egsisted, makes things apear that never could be, and letts imagination and reality mix is a wirl,for not to be seperated.And so a Darcilolo is standing in this night of a darkness that could never be darker, and in a fog that could never be fogyer. It stands allown, alown from it
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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