The Elitist - Fiction


 

She stood in line at the gas station store, waiting for her turn to provide money in exchange for the large hazelnut coffee. Truth be told, she didn’t really enjoy the coffee that much. Rather, it was her silent interaction with the people who frequented such establishments. She found them simple and predictable, two traits she boldly claimed would never represent her.

She adored her life of receiving fresh copies of The New Yorker on time, giving her enough of a reason to read them in her minimalist yet trendy apartment. She craved the conversations with her friends regarding the latest state of affairs, or which European cigarettes were hip enough to smoke. She wore black all the time because it was the only colour she allowed to brush against her skin. Yet, here she was, standing in line to pay $1 for gas station hazelnut coffee.

She gave the young girl her money, walked out in silence, and got in her car. She set the coffee in her drink holder and drove off, suddenly craving a cigarette and wanting to engage in mindless shopping.

 

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