[Not finished, but I can’t think of an ending just yet]
He entered the room hesitantly, his back to the wall, like some frightened wild animal.
People stared, or so he thought. In fact, no one paid him any mind. All they saw was a flash of black moving along then edges of the room.
He wanted to cry, but someone had once told him it was “unbecoming” for a man to cry. At least, in front of others. The tears wouldn’t come, but he felt the knot tightening in his throat.
Cautiously, he made his way to the counter, holding his breath as the barista gazed at him expectantly.
“How may I help you today?” The stranger asked. In his mind, he came up with so many replies to her, ranging from “buy me a ticket out of here” to “leave me alone”.
“Could I get a caramel latte, please?” He mumbled, knowing he was barely audible over the music. Why his legs had dragged him here, he didn’t know. It was certainly better than sitting at home, he told himself.
Within minutes, the coffee was ready. It tasted bitter – clearly the barista had forgotten the caramel. Or maybe it was just his mood that turned the taste sour. After all, taste was partly psychological. He didn’t want to complain, especially if it was his fault for being in a foul mood.