Copyright Dale Rogerson
Word Count: 100
The four of us had met at the coffee shop for years. Every third Friday, you’d find us in the booth at the back. We had one coffee, making it last while we caught up on gossip, family dramas and recently, politics.
My father always said never to argue about politics or religion and I usually never did. But Monica got all fired up about the recent demonstrations, said if you believed in something you should stand up for it and she was going to do just that.
We met in the coffee shop today as usual.
She didn’t show.
(It’s been a while – but as ever, huge thanks to Rochelle for her constancy and support for Friday Fictioneers)