The cafe in San Jose faced a parking lot.
All around, the streets were torn up. The cafe was an oasis
in piles of dirt, stripped barriers, and plank walkways over excavations.

It was cold.
I stopped writing and finished the coffee.
There was some powdered sugar on my sweater. I brushed it off.

"Jenny."

I looked up. Jeff was standing there
with a plastic tray in his hands.

...................................................