Cherries

It is Thursday.
The water steams. I see the final crystals from the plastic bottle containing my instant coffee pour into a cup.
"Would you like room for milk?"
"Yes," I respond. I always do. "Cream and sugar, please."
"Oh sorry. We are out of milk."
"Oh. Well...just an extra spoonful of sugar should do the trick."
As I leave, chattering sounds regarding politics and global warming flow from recently depleted ceramic mugs of coffee painted with Chinese designs. A smile grows as I am rewarded with my decision to get my drink in a paper cup...to-go.
I notice my right shoe has faded slightly more than my left.
My car starts. A left, a right, another right and two more lefts. I pull into the second to last parking spot.
"Three bags of the mulch marked '30 percent off' please." I ask seconds before realizing the young man wearing a Home Depot shirt didn't in fact work at the Home Depot.
"Um, I don't work here," he smuggly responds while not actually looking in my direction.
"But you're wearing a Home Depot shirt," I mock trying to imitate his smart-ass manner.
"Dude. Heard of second hand?"
I suppose his name wasn't actually Shawn either. I turn around and walk away, not fast but not exactly slow. I think of all the wittier responses that could have been.
At the stoplight, the radio host annoys me with another pledge drive interruption. "I'd rather listen to traffic," I complain to myself as I roll down the window and firmly press the off button. Two lefts, a right, and two more lefts. I pull in. I'm out of change so I risk a ticket from the meter-maid.
I see Paul walking toward me on the other side of the street. I don't really want to talk, but I figure it isn't worth the hassle. I am hot and I am tired. I cross the street.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Got work today?" he asks.
No is my answer.
"Hmmm."
"I did pick some cherries," I respond with a selfish smile. Happy that I have something unique to say, my smile grows and I cross my arms with a certain cockiness.
"Wow. For a pie? I love those sour cherries," Paul inquires much to my surprise.
"No. I prefer them dried," I snap back. It's true. I always hated pies. I think it is the crust I don't like. I do like dried goods. They last longer.
"No way. Pies are much better. And take more care with preparation."
I try to hide my eagerness to leave and instead look at my feet, uncross my arms, and step on a bug. All cockiness has evaporated.
"Well I have a thousand more cherries. So maybe tomorrow." I am trying to avoid an obvious and painful debate. I regret my unique statement.
I make an bad excuse about going to a fake appointment I wish I did have in reality.
At home I look at my cherries. They are almost dried. Looking smaller and less appealing than I had hoped, I knew I should have made a pie.