The Coffee Shop on 4th Street
I Frank Delaney woke at six every morning and made coffee in a percolator that had belonged to his wife before she left. The percolator was chipped on one side, the chip filled with brown residue that never quite washed out, and Frank liked it because it reminded him that things could be useful even when they were broken. He drank his coffee standing at the kitchen window, looking out at the...
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