One café noisette at five euros 10 cents:
blackened tears dripping down white cheeks like melted poetry,
the grubby corner of a job application is rubbed between aching fingers.
Two hours and twenty-seven minutes.
One café americain at 4 euros 50 cents:
a white shirt as over-folded and stained as a script at a dress rehearsal,
a rumbling voice whispering numbers from a spreadsheet on a laptop on the table.
Three hours and sixteen minutes.
One café leger at 4 euros 70 cents:
colour palette cheeks turning from ivory to grey-green to crimson,
ears ignoring another phone-call and eyelids struggling to trap curiosity.
Four hours and thirty-two minutes.
Erin Shore Gilbey 