Cupcake

I walked around Portland yesterday. The sun was shining but it lent little warmth. An arctic air mass hovered overhead, and a bitter wind blasted. I kept tucking my scarf around my chin; I kept my gloved hands in my coat pockets. I pretended the sunshine was warm, but didn't linger on the streets. I walked quickly, glancing in shop windows and up at the big blue sky.

There's a cupcake shop. A pink cake is painted on the window, and there are glass stands of lavishly decorated cakes. I pushed the old door and walked inside. The place was techno bare. A chic girl stood at the counter. She had short dark hair, skinny arms, and a low scooped top.

There was a thermos of coffee. "Is that regular?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Do you have decaf?"

"No."

I looked at the choices. Red velvet, lemon, spice, and chocolate with caramel salt. I ordered the chocolate and went over to the bar in front of the window. The high chair was light: brushed aluminum. The bar was an old barn board, dark, polished smooth. I sat and ate as Valentine's couples giggled by out on the sidewalk, matching outfits, arm in arm. [image error]