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 ^{(it's beta!)}

Once you finish reading the piece, please make sure you read the note at the bottom.

--

Coffee made her feel pensive.

The coffee shop down the street from her hole-in-the-wall apartment wasn’t very good, but it was cheap and close, and no one cared if you sat with a book and read for awhile, as long as you ordered and tipped the waitress pretty well. Typically, she would bring along the latest bestseller she’d picked up, making sure to keep her eyes down and avoid taking to anyone but the waitress, but that day she felt like something different.

She decided to people-watch.

From her little corner in the shop, she became a fly on the wall; the silent spy, watching as people went about their daily lives.

The owner’s daughter was behind the counter, sulkily counting the cash drawer. Large, plastic hoop earrings dangled from her ears, smacking against her face as she turned her head. Her mouth counted silently as she flipped through the bills and change, checking the amounts. The watcher smiled as she observed the girl sneak a few extra ones into the pocket of her apron.

Near the front, stirring sugar and creamer into his mug, was a young man with square glasses and dark hair. He had a thick textbook sitting open in front of him, and a highlighter in the hand that wasn’t mixing his drink together. The watcher had never seen him in the shop before; she deduced that he was from the local college, looking for a quiet place to study. It was early winter, and she supposed that final exams for the first semester were coming up.

A middle-aged couple were on the far right of the shop, hands loosely entwined, coffee mugs forgotten and long cold sitting on the edge of the table. Both of their left ring fingers were bare; this was a date. Their quiet, loving stare made the watcher feel simultaneously sad and happy, and she studied them for a minute before she feared that they would feel her gaze.

Highlighter asked Thief for another coffee. The middle-aged woman laughed at something the middle-aged man said. A man with thinning hair and wearing all black entered the store and went to the counter were Thief was preparing Highlighter’s drink.

The watcher felt surprisingly happy as she kept a careful eye on every person’s movements, wondering what their actions told her about them as people. Was Highlighter studious because he was reading so thoroughly, or was he a last-minute slacker trying to learn all the things he hadn’t read when they were assigned? And the couple, had they perhaps met at the very shop they were sitting at? How long had they been dating? They still looked so dizzyingly in love.

And, of course, Thief. Did her parents not pay her fair wages? Or, perhaps, did they mistreat her, and this was her way of paying them back? Maybe they were actually wonderful parents who had the misfortune of being cursed with a kleptomaniac daughter.

All of her musings both delighted and depressed the watcher. These people she was studying were not real to her; she would probably never see them again, or recognize them even if she did see them. Yet because she watched them from a distance, they could be any kind of person she wanted them to be; good, bad. Smart, dumb. Rich, poor. It was all guesswork, all a game.

Black Shirt got his coffee and settled into a table near hers, but she didn’t hang around long enough to wonder about his life story. The watcher stood, exiting through the front door, leaving behind a few ones for the waitress and a pile of empty creamers.

The sunshine beat down on her forehead. It was a typical winter day; not a cloud in the sky, but still very cold. She wrapped her coat more tightly around her, shoving her hands deep into the pockets as a smile painted its way across her face and the sudden depression she felt in the coffee shop left her. Days like this were her favorites. It was impossible to be sad when everything seemed to reflect the light of the sun, and the world seemed just a bit brighter and, despite the cold, warmer.

People watching had filled her with mixed emotions, and even as the sour ones were washed away by the heat of the winter sun, the watcher considered them. She would probably never know the truth about Highlighter, or the Couple, but it was not because she would never return to that shop. The watcher knew she would. It was because she had trained herself to keep no one’s company, to be solitary. She had always been so cautious, with one eye over her shoulder and feet ready to run at the sight of danger. But that day, with it’s people-watching-happy-sunlight morning, had put her in a particularly relaxed mood. She even forgot her typically vigilant precautions as she made her way to the subway.

Her good mood made her curious; had she lived her life incorrectly? Yes, she had always kept herself safe by being so wary, but how many days did she step into the sunshine and just enjoy the fact that she was alive? She wasn’t sure the exact number, but knew it to be far, far less than the amount of times that she kept her head down and walked straight to the subway, making sure to make eye contact with no one.

It was at that moment that she vowed to change her life. No longer would she hide behind a guarded mask of security! She would be free to live her life, to love her life! She would walk with pride and appreciate each day and make new friends—she would throw caution out the window.

Her thoughts uplifted her and distracted her so much that the watcher hardly even noticed her whereabouts. As she snapped out of her reverie, she realized that she was entering the subway doors, along with a crowd of other people. She could hardly recall how she’d gotten there, but none of that mattered. She was alive and surrounded by strangers—no, not strangers, potential friends—and she was going to make the best of it.

Knowing she’d only be on the subway for two stops, she gave up the last seat to an old woman, smiling kindly at her. The world felt brighter when that smile was returned. Clutching the handle hanging from the ceiling, the watcher tried to keep her balance as the train hurtled underground, rocking back and forth.

The first stop flew by, and the second was fast approaching before she noticed Black Shirt. He was sitting, cup of coffee in hand, eyes turned toward the ground. The watcher smiled. Was it coincidence that they were once again in the same place, or fate? Had, perhaps, a higher power brought them together? Was this man, Mr. Black Shirt, to be part of the change that had come over her?

Had fate brought her a friend?

The train came to a lurching halt, and the doors flew open. A crowd of people materialized and rushed out the open doors, and the watcher joined them, trying to keep her gaze on Black Shirt, who, much to her surprise and happiness, appeared to be getting off at the same stop. She ran up the stairs, toward the city street, and waited there for him to follow the same path.

At the top of the stairs, as the crowd thinned out and went their perspective ways, she turned, smiling as she noticed that Black Shirt was standing right behind her. The thought occurred to her that perhaps he, too, had recognized her from the coffee shop.

Black Shirt did not smile in return. Instead, he pulled out a gun, shot the watcher once in the chest and once in the head, and then took off running.

[He was a few blocks away before he slowed, pulling on a blue hooded sweatshirt and taking out his cellphone. He punched in a few numbers and held the phone to his ear.

“It’s done.” He said, then snapped the phone shut and continued to run.]

--

The last few lines are in brackets for a reason.

I originally didn't write those lines for this story, and was planning on calling the piece "Hitman." However, it occured to me that the title would give away the entire story and would therefore make it less cool. :( It might not be cool in the first place, but that's beside the point. Without the title being "Hitman", though, I was afraid people wouldn't "get" it. So instead I gave the story a generic name and added some lines I hated.

So please give me some feedback. Would "Hitman" give it away? If I keep the title as "Coffee Shop" is the end understandable without those last few lines? And most importantly, what did you think?

Thanks, guys.