Part 1... I think.
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Cole
Coffee was an evil that William Benet could never escape. Try as he might, his morning required a little something extra to break the walls of sleep. A day full of grading papers and catering to lying, manipulative undergraduates was demanding enough without being less than fully awake in addition. He was not ignorant of the addiction, of the obsession, but cared little of the consequences. As long as his vice was coffee and not heroin, he considered himself on the winning side.
A corner shop was his dealer of choice. Will told himself the local ownership was worth the increase in price over the national chain across the street. A seat in the corner between floor-to-ceiling windows belonged to him. Two chairs'one for him, the other for students. Teaching summer courses had its advantages and one of them was being able to hold office hours wherever he wanted to; not that many students ever sought out his advising. If he had to sit and wait for someone who might never come he might as well wait somewhere less confining than his eight-by-eight box in the academic advisory building.
Will sipped his coffee with a view of the register. Early morning brought a surprisingly low number of customers. Three people filed behind one another, all staring at the hanging pallets on which the laws of coffee were carved. Beyond the three in line and the two girls behind the counter, Will was alone in the shop. His book was all the company he needed for the moment. The stack of yet untouched papers sitting on the table could wait while he enjoyed his hour-long respite.
Two of the people in line were obviously students. They carried backpacks. The third stood second in line, between the others, his appearance seemed a patch of grass in the middle of a desert. He towered over the others, a faded grey jacket hanging over a ripped shirt and jeans. Will thought him familiar.
A chance glance brought indication to his previous notion. The man smiled and gave a sharp wave of his hand. His face did not bring a name or any real memory, only a feeling of remembrance; an acquaintance of a friend or a past student, perhaps. Will gestured as well, but gave his attention back to his book. Lost in the pages, the voice came as quite a surprise.
'Dostoevsky.' The man had made his way to Will's corner, coffee in hand. He grinned, standing above the table reserved for students, waiting for a response.
'Excuse me?' Will did not register the word said to him.
The man pointed at Will's book with one of the fingers wrapped around his cup, his other hand tucked into a jacket pocket. 'Your book.'
Will turned his book over to check the cover as if he had been unaware of what it was. 'Yeah,' he said, feeling very stupid in the strange moment. Looking back to the man, Will attempted another recall at his face. 'I'm sorry, you look so familiar, do I know you?'
Pulling out his other arm, the man scratched at the back of his head, shrugging. 'Yeah, well, no. But I know you. I was in Sheppard's psychology lecture, I had Anne as a TA, but I remember you too. Will, right?'
'Yeah,' Will extended his left hand.
'Cole,' he said, shaking Will's hand.
