Espresso
by Lynn Edge
On a list of attractions, the Ruidoso Roastery sounds enticing. Fresh beans ground at the shop. My husband says, "You go.' He thinks it's a boutique.
"Ah, come on, go with me."
After driving up and down narrow streets, we find the Roastery, a log cabin converted into an expresso bar. A young man stands behind the counter. He sports a ring in his nose and three in his ear. Seeing the various flavors in long-necked bottles, my husband asks, "What's good?"
"How about a caramel mocha frappé?"
"Can I have a shot of Jack Daniels in it?" he teases.
The waiter reaches under the bar and brings out a half-empty fifth. I laugh because my husband doesn't drink. They start talking about the mountains, hiking, and the younger man's lack of social life. I pull on my husband's elbow, but he talks, talks ....and keeps talking.
upper canyon
the faint echo
of coyote howls