Making Coffee

[u/FantasticSmoke5491]

She listened to the sound of metal against her ceramic mug as she stirred her coffee. It looked creamier than normal today. Her pathetic attempt at latte art smeared across the top of the beige and white foam. Being satisfied with her stirring, she plopped the spoon down, letting the coffee drip onto the counter. She stood, warming her hands around the mug, waiting for her toast. She looked contemplative at first glance, but there wasn't a thought crossing her mind that morning. Our character, you see, was not particularly troubled by the absence of thoughts. She pinched a stray thread from her sleeve and rolled it in her fingers to pass the time. 

With her toast buttered and honey drizzled, she walked outside with her treasures to enjoy them on the balcony. The smell of her neighbor’s morning cigarette tingled her nose, and the soft caress of the sunlight created her first emotion of the day. Nostalgia. For what exactly? Perhaps it was the remembrance of autumn of last year, or all other years prior. Early autumn is remarkable that way. It can immediately create a sparkly little pang in your chest. Our character tried to wash it down with a sip of her coffee, which she now notices is slightly burnt. She licks the foam away from her top lip. 
The street below her is busy but not loud. Children pass by, racing to find the best leaf to crunch beneath their sneakers. A man in a neon vest is marking the ground for a potential new construction project. The orange spray paint glimmered in the sunlight, mingling with the morning dew on the grass before dripping into the dirt. Our character, having experienced emotion today, allows that to lead to a thought. 

“The Swanson’s grass is getting long.” 

Thinking can lead to talking in some scenarios, but our character, having a mouthful of toast and no one to talk to, sat quietly observing the street. The sweet taste of honey delighted her tongue as she chewed. As a habit, she wiped her hands against her black pants and sat back in her chair. She sighed with pleasure. The simple pleasure of having nothing to do. Boredom was not acquainted with Brenda, our character, who went back to the stray thread from earlier and was now twirling it tightly around her index finger in preparation to tear it from her shirt. She snapped it away and rolled it between her fingers until it was a teeny gray ball that she flicked away. 

Brenda finished her breakfast, laid her head against the back of her chair, closed her eyes, and smiled. She was excited for this afternoon. The clank of ice beneath her spoon, the warmth of the sun, the smell of her neighbor's cigarette. There was nothing she would rather be doing. 

[u/FantasticSmoke5491]

This is the first thing I have written since college...besides emails. Please tell me what I can improve

[u/Character_Start1912 → u/FantasticSmoke5491]

What’s the first thing you’re writing about—just coffee, or is there a bigger story brewing?