Touch
Steve
I sat in a diner, one that reminded me of the ones from my home, the forties. The jukebox in the corner was playing songs that I knew from my child hood. Coffee still smelled the same and if I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend that it was eight decades ago and Peggy was going to walk in any moment and slide across from me. I would hold her hand and buy her dinner, and then we would go dancing.
The clatter of my cup brought me back to attention. "More coffee?" the waitress asked with a smile. She had wide green eyes and long golden curls. The nametag on her blouse told me her name was Stephanie.
"Sure," I said, handing her my cup. Her fingers met mine as she took it from me.
Long after she left I sat staring at my mug, savoring the brush of her fingers against mine.