Coffee Mugs and Train Tracks
It was rare for a café to feel so sterile, so...impersonal. Dakota figured it wasn't the room's fault, or the people getting on with their lives, but the situation at hand. Cupping a mug of coffee at one particular table; Dakota's eyes bared down into the darkness, stirring it's contents intently. Though her back was arched over the item in question, her mind was wandering else where, her pose stung of annoyance. Her companion Elliott on the other hand looked tiredly over at her. As he did so he continued to fiddle with a crisp letter in his hands, before deciding to wipe his glasses on his jumper. “Dakota--” he stated at last with a clear intention to clear the air, but with the call of her name, her face snapped from the coffee mug. “You can't let that...that...” she stumbled, her teeth gritted as she squeezed her hand that rested on the table. Elliott swallowed tightly letting her continue, but noticed her loss of words. He put his glasses back on his no...