"you should've ordered something manly, rustic, hot." He says taking a sip of his hot black coffee, scoffing at your frappe "whipped cream, Carmel, that's just plain sugar son" he shakes his head.

John sits up resting his arms on the table and rubbing his hands together looking at all the patrons at the cafe.

He picks up his coffee cup and takes in the basic black coffee scent, the steam warming up his nose.