Astrid N. Wright

“Sex is overrated. Like pumpkin-spice latte.” Gala sipped her espresso. Her date’s foam mustache flinched. “Really? Then why are you here?” “I like the playlist.” She smiled, listening to an old jazz song. Most patrons had left the coffee shop when the dusk turned windows into mirrors so the murmur of voices couldn’t spoil Gala’s…