Rosé all day

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Rosé all day”, she chimed, right before she walked out of the café;
lipstick stains on her to-go cup and coffee-breath fogging up the morning chill.

I wish I could do this all day.

Swim in the ocean in the pouring rain.

Eat oranges in a field in sunny Paris.

Catch the last flight back home.

Drink another mocha latté.

Anything but spend the next eight hours stuck in a cubicle;
waiting, waiting –

For 5 pm.
For the weekend.
For next year.
For God knows what.