“If I write your name wrong, you get this coffee and a free refill,” the barista said. Her grin grew wider when she added, “If I’m right, I get your soul.”
I shivered. It had to be a joke. Still, I counted my lucky stars as I gave my name. “It’s Dominique.”
All through school, my name was misspelled Dominic or something far from pronounceable.
But that barista’s teeth gleamed as she scrawled. She showed me the cup and my heart dropped.
“Sorry, but your name is in your eyes. We see all here. Here’s your smock. Get to work.”
Author’s Note: Most want their names written right on their coffee cups, but not at Café Nightmare where you have to work as a barista for an eternity, no breaks. Good thing there’s coffee.
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