Can’t stop for coffee . . .

If I don’t see the coffee, I won’t want the coffee.  That was the lie she told herself as she walked down the all-familiar street on her way to work.

She had been stopping by the shop every weekday for the past month. She couldn’t help it. The smell which came from the open doors was intoxicating.  Freshly ground beans and and other spices called out to people from a block away. She would even find time during the weekend to stop by at least once. The logical conclusion, to her, was that there had to be something magical about their coffee. When her partner heard her talking like that he concluded that she was addicted.

“I am not,” she had said, “I can stop anytime!”  He had asked her to prove it.

Now she stood outside of the coffee shop, trying to shield her eyes from it with her wide brim hat. All she had to do was to keep walking, but her feet wouldn’t move. The aroma had wrapped around her and made her its prisoner. She took  backwards step towards the door and stopped.  No. She wasn’t going to cave.  She would prove him wrong and then, to celebrate, he could buy her a coffee.

With a firm nod she stepped forward and continued on to work.


Wearing:

Outfit: [Kenny Roland] PARIS DRESS -White-
Hair: little bones. Feline –
Accessories: :[The.Plastik]: Teller Jewelry:// Silver

Pose: MILA poses – 10

Shot on location at: -Saint-Pete City- 

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One thought on “Can’t stop for coffee . . .

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