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Big Mac's Big Date"Well, I don't see you making that long walk down to Sugarcube Corner!"
Big Macintosh still had Caramel's words in his head even as he worked harder to ignore them. It was not that Caramel was wrong. Mac wanted to ask Pinkie Pie out for a while now, but he never quite figured out how. At least that excuse satisfied him until today. He knew how to ask Pinkie out on a date. The problem was that he could never think of an excuse to go and ask her out. He tried offering to take the Cakes their daily apple shipment, but Applejack would always insist on it so she could visit with Pinkie for a bit. Mac would never deny his little sister any chance to spend time with her friends, and seeing her leave the farm occasionally to have fun was always welcome.
Today was different. If Caramel could pony up and bring himself to ask Applejack out, then he should be able to do the same. 'I'll go one this fence is finished,' he promised himself. He was content to content to allow himself this excuse and f
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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