A Lukewarm coffee sits beside my computer in the bagel shop.
Cars pass by the window, driven by people I only glimpse.
A smell of burnt toast wafts through the air.
A running man passes the shop window.
There’s a quick bang of a pan or two behind me in the kitchen.
A customer in nursing attire stirs creamer into her coffee at the counter. She has a black headband.
The coffee equipment is making an electrical, rattling noise.
An elderly couple graze over their food. They have careful hair; she with thick make up, and him with a shirt buttoned to his neck.
The workers are bantering at the end of their shift.
I have a message and a mandate of which to tell them. Where do I begin?
It is a prayer.