Stir The Coffee

Stir The Coffee Through the steam of my coffee I could see a miniature set of shiny scarlet shoes swinging back and forth underneath the catch at the diner. A little girl had been sitting atop the scarlet stool since I had arrived, just sitting strike out the cook flip pancakes alone morning long with a mature sense of fascination. Up and down, and up and down, all everywhere and over again, the batter always formed into delicious unanimous creations, or so with blueberries, some with chocolate, some just spare and simple.

The cook sported a wonderful apron that looked like it had been just about f orever, cooked a one million million pancakes, and still lived to give tongue to its tale of the oil colors and toppings and syrups it had seen in its day. The old existences red shirt could be seen through the char holes in the apron, as if they were war wounds. The cook didnt depend to mind the oestrus of the stove, or stir at all when the burning oil from the pan spat at his flesh. He was caked in a film of grease, butter and batter, and only occ...If you requisite to get a full essay, order it on our website: OrderCustomPaper.com

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