"The distance aches for me," he said, drowning in his coffee.  His 
fat fingers tried to coil themselves around the white ceramic cup, but they 
only managed to stick out harshly on the sides.  This act made him seem 
like he was actually trying to prove something to the drink.
	I had known Scott for a couple weeks now.  Even though I had 
never told him that I cared for his company (or acted like it for that 
matter), we had been together constantly.  I'm also positive that he didn't 
care for mine.  That's the way the cookie crumbles though.
	He went on and on about having loved a mermaid once, but that he 
couldn't bear her having to part with her sea.  So, he left her.  He told me 
that she pleaded and prayed, even groveled at his stubby feet for him to 
stay.  Her emerald tail pounding on the sand.  
	"No, no my dear..." he'd say, "I must go..."
	"I'll DIE without you my love!"  she'd yell, "PLEASE!  I BEG of 
you!  Don't say goodbye to me, we can fall asleep on the shore!"
	"If it's meant to be, our hearts will meet again.  Farewell," -and 
he'd leave, walking on the white sand, while she sat on her rock, arms 
outstretched.  She killed herself the next day.  (Death of a broken heart he 
claimed.)
	But that GODDAMN coffee!  It just sat there under his lying chin, 
sitting blackly and sophisticated.  It did seem to be the perfect drink for 
him.
	OH!  But the mermaid was singing now, he said.  Singing, "I 
wonder if someday you'll say you love me!"  (He actually sang the words.  
His talk thick and disgusting from his fatty voice box.)
	"Creamer, sir?" a short, hollow waitress asked.  One that looks 
forward to ripping her husband's heart out every night.  A husband of forty 
years that prays for the bliss of death, or a never-ending coma.  Where did 
that twinkle in her eye go?  "No." he'd say.  "I like it black."
	"-like my men," I thought.  Then I let out a good hearty laugh at 
that.

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16 Renford Road (four)
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