The second cup of coffee is better than the first, she thought. It tastes less like copper.
“You know what’s useless? Poetry is useless. It’s more useless than painting. Fuck it all.”
The air was cool on the patio. The wind was just strong enough to blow out the matches George was trying to light. She handed him her lighter.
“Thanks. I don’t mean to be insulting. Oh, maybe I do. I know you pour…