<br/><br/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">Abigail Gerard</span></div><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">Location: New York City {The Muse Coffee Shoppe}</span></div><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;"> Time: 8:00AM </span></div><hr/><hr/><br/><br/><em>"Thanks dad, I'll give you a call later today, okay? Tell mom I love her. Thanks. Bye, dad."</em><br/><br/>The line fell dead, and Abby pressed a chilled thumb to the worn button; hanging up as well. The phone was old-school compared to the spiffy iphones everyone carried around. Just a simple press-button mobile divide that fit perfectly in her pocket, didn't break when dropped, and certainly didn't short out if it got a little wet. Perfect for her line of work. She slid it into the pocket of her coat, coming up on the coffee shop she frequented almost daily on the way to work or school. Today it was work, and she wore her scrubs beneath the layer of her coat. Only the faded sea-foam color of a medical student.. Nothing bright and tangy. The coffee shop was nestled into the bustle of<em>New York </em>, it didn't look like much, save for the vinyl lettering depicting its very own identity in the midst of a cookie cutter city.<em>The Muse</em>, scripted in a series of peaks and dips in cursive harmony with<em>Coffee Shoppe</em>detailed in typewriter blocks and much smaller letters just below. A hand reached for the door, pushing it inward for entrance, and the ding of a bell announced her arrival.<br/><br/>The coffee shop was busy today, with a line of five or six individuals all wrapped up in coats and hoods waiting for their beverage of choice and perhaps a warm freshly baked muffin. Aside from this, there were the usual customers seated in the various booths, and tables strewn across the small interior. The door fell shut, and the barista behind the counter called out her name upon recognizing her.<br/><br/><em>"Abby! Mornin' hun."</em><br/><br/>She was greeted with a smile on the face of old Marge; the owner of the bustling business. Abby waved, returning a bright grin as she approached the counter space.<br/><br/><em>"Good morning Miss Marge."</em>Her voice was easy to listen to; soft and friendly.<br/><br/><em>"It's cold out there, darlin'. What'll you have this morning?"</em>Marge leaned elbows to the counter, waiting for Abby's order.<br/><br/><em>"Think I'll just have a hot chocolate today. Can you add whipped creme on top?"</em><br/><br/>Miss Marge chuckled, and with a nod was off to make the requested drink for Abby.<br/><br/>Abby smiled. The woman was right.. The chilled air had seeped right through her scrub pants, and was leaving goosebumps all the way down the length of her legs. She loved that woman though. Miss Marge reminded her of a grandma, one of those women that just drew you in, and you never wanted to leave. She was probably the only reason Abby even stopped in so often. Stepping back from the counter, she waited for her drink while picking up a paper from the stand near the door. The front cover depicted a man in his sixties, someone of ill importance, though he had just won the lottery and in turn his fifteen minutes to fame. Turning from the paper, azure hues rested on the scene unfolding. A bit of a people watcher, she was more than content to sit back and enjoy the interaction produced by those individuals within the shop. Across the way sat an elderly couple at a table; situated across from each other, she folded her arms across her middle as she watched. The old man had just brought their drinks to the table, and they were sharing one of Marge's holiday pumpkin spice muffins. By far the best ones in all of New York. It was like a hallmark movie between the two of them, one that left you grinning for days in remembrance of what that one special little scene.<br/><br/>Another customer entered with a ring of the door-bell, and Abby stepped off further to the side and out of the way.<br/><br/><br/>