here there be angst.
Ed brewed coffee with the partial awareness established through habit, and sat down at the table to wait.
It wasn't the necessary morning caffeine injection he was waiting for. It was the same sort of waiting that had him sitting beside his mother's grave so many years ago, the sort of waiting that had no attached expectation. It was a dull lethargy, familiar and sour and he hated it.
The morning paper landed with a thud against the door, delivered as it always was according to the desire of an esteemed member of the community. The hollow sound, combined with the heady aroma of dark coffee pulled Ed from his reverie, made his scowl deepen.
"Bastard old man." He snarled, hauling the door open. The door hadn't done anything to deserve his ire, but Ed slammed it shut behind him as he reentered, paper in hand.
Ed poured a cup of coffee and hunkered back down at the table, glaring balefully at the empty chair across from him. It was wrong, unbalanced. That chair was never empty in the morning, and he never got to read the paper first. It was the faint hint of a hated perfume in the air that did him in. It traced its way through coffee fumes, and the remains of last night's supper to reach out and taunt his nasal passages.
He detested that smell. Loathed it…
But right then, as he felt tears sting his mutinous eyes, he wanted nothing more than to be able to glare at the perfumes source…well, really he wanted to be hauled close in strong arms and told it was going to be alright, that he was not alone.
But, even as the coffee grew cold and his good leg fell asleep from inactivity, no one came through the door, sat in the chair, and smiled that familiar crooked grin. No one told him it was going to be all right.
"Papa…"