Blue Curacao

Was it the drink, he wondered, or something else?

He had left office at six sharp, walked a colleague to the bus stop and then made his way to this coffee shop. It was a routine he was diligently following over the last few weeks. Now even the staff here recognised him and greeted him as a patron; him, his glass of iced Blue Curacao and a sports magazine. He flipped past yet another player profile as he stole a quick glance at his watch; it was almost eight, any minute now his phone would ring. He hurriedly pulled it out from his pocket and placed it on the table, right next to Allan Donald’s career statistics. And waited. 8:02. 8:03. 8:05. 8:07. 8:08. It finally rang at 8:10. He grabed the phone, let it ring once, and then quickly answered it.

Hey, she said, am done, how about you, are you still at work?
No, am done too, just leaving, he answered.
Oh super, so I’ll see you at the station then, in another 15?
Yeah, same place.
Cool! See you.
Bye.

He quickly finished the remains of his drink, tucked Allan Donald back into the magazine rack and made his way out. In five minutes he’d be at the station and in another ten he’d be on his way home. He smiled as he thought he didn’t mind the hour long journey anymore.

Was it the drink, he wondered, or something else?