Jason threw a worn brown satchel over his shoulder, more out of habit than anything. He didn't really need the papers or books inside, not today, but he felt naked without the old thing. The bag - now sporting small cloth patches where the leather had worn thin - had seen Jason through high school, college, and graduate school.
With the bag solidly on his shoulder, Jason made his way out of his small apartment, stepping over Spot, a grey tabby cat who did his best to keep his owner home by weaving between the man's legs. Once Jason got past Spot, and managed to lock the door (as usual, it took some convincing to get the key to cooperate), he hurried down the stairs and out of the building. He marched down the street, slipping into a small building labelled "Hello Café." Couldn't go to work before he'd had his morning cup of coffee.
"Small mocha, whipped cream, chocolate shavings," he told the barista, the words coming automatically. The usual exchange of bills, the usual clank of change falling into the tip jar, and Jason carried his cup to his usual table by a window in the corner of the café. He pulled out a book from his bag - Good Omens, the cover page declared - and opened it. The book's spine was well-creased with use, and coffee stains colored a few of the pages. Jason didn't seem to mind. He read and sipped silently, comfortable in his corner of the café.
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