“I’ve always said, if I only had one day left to live, I wouldn’t want to know about it,” I complain over the rim of my latte.
Jane squints her red rimmed eyes at me and leans forward, chest pressing further into the small table between us, her hearing apparently impeded by the frantic screams of passersby.
_‘Really should’ve made coffee at home today,’ _I think.
I try not to leave my place on...