Hot Chocolate

There's this little coffee shop a few blocks from my job. Not the Starbucks that always has a line around the block, just a quiet coffee shop. The kind where they've got tables and chairs but also a corner with rugs and beanbag chairs. It's got the warehouse lighting fixtures that hang down, the big bulbs are surrounded by little cages but they fill the place with that warm yellow light that's just perfect. 

I like hot chocolate, most people do. But, I can drink it year round and on a rough day, I seek it out. Inside, there's a few batistas, they don't have uniforms or name tags. It's not that kind of spot. There's a guy there, light skinned, super skinny, nappy afro and a lot of acne; he somehow looked 28 and 18 at the same time. 

Didn't matter if there was a line, or other baristas he always made my hot chocolate himself. We'd chat a little about anime or pro wrestling because he frequently wore shirts with references to each. Occasionally, he would compliment my skin. He'd always put an extra pump of caramel syrup in my hot chocolate. It's not something I requested, but he recommended it one day. I liked it, and from there, he just did it. One day, he was just gone. Probably was a student at the nearby college and graduated.

As I drank my hot chocolate today after a morning full of meetings; I realized I missed him. Not just because he made my hot chocolate perfectly every time but because I did enjoy our conversations. It's been about two years since I've seen him, but I still remember the hot chocolate he would make for me. The watery hot chocolate I got today somehow reminded me, I couldn't remember his name.