Only the girl with the trumpet bought coffee from Altan today - it was unusually warm for January, 70˚F. But she was up early and there was still a dewy chill in the air, so he suspected that's why she bothered to try to find 25¢ in her back pocket. She looked a little young to be wandering around on her own, but that was no business of Altan's, he had to remind himself. Still, he couldn't help but wonder where she'd come from. He thought she said her name was Gabriela, or was it Priscilla? Anyway, he knew she'd only been in town for a couple of months. She was nice enough at least.
The rest of the day went slowly. The sun seemed to be soaking in its own warmth and taking its time to cross the sky. Altan didn't mind, except that the heat drove people away from hot drinks. He liked people-watching all the same; there was the man in fancy clothing he'd seen at the carnival a couple days before, shouting at chickens, bowing to women, and challenging men. Altan half-wanted the man to come his way, just to see what he would do if Altan offered him kahve. But the man only put his hand on another man's shoulder, said some words, and skipped away. Pity.
There was also Aberdeen Angus, the lovely antique shop owner who currently sat on the bench in front of the shop, arms and legs splayed, not so modestly, basking in the sunlight. Altan had never been to her shop, but whenever he greeted her in the morning, she always waved or smiled. She had her head turned toward Mr. Dave Gorlomi's store, and she appeared to be staring at the man as he gazed absentmindedly out his window. Did she want to be a butcher? No, that couldn't be right, though Altan, she was too sweet for that. Perhaps she wanted to be a butcher's husband? Altan didn't think she was married, but he didn't think she wanted to be tied down either.
The day went on with no remarkable occurrences. Around 2pm an armored truck groaned to a halt in front of the laundromat, smoke seeping out from under the hood. The driver hopped out of the front seat, lifted the hood, and the smoke billowed out into the air with a loud whine. Altan heard the driver yelling curses.
It was 6:30pm when Altan packed up for the day. He was sleepy and didn't feel like waiting for the cool of the night when people might be more inclined to buy his coffee. He had that nagging feeling one gets when one thinks one might be forgetting something. He tried to not think about it, but it was ever so persistent. Altan stopped by Jorri Ray's on the way back to the tower and grabbed a small, wilted salad and a piece of cherry pie to go. The broken down truck was still across the street.
Back in his apartment, Altan ate quietly, content with the day. After his meal, he completed his prayers and tidied up. He then just stood, staring out the window, knowing he'd done everything that he'd needed too, but he still felt like he was forgetting something... it was 8:36pm. Sighing, Altan went to bed.
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