Megan steps towards an old familiar coffee shop. In stride, her gaze catches the overhead of a scarlet red and a faded yellow pattern of the overhead as she crosses the street. The shop was owned by an old neighbor, mid twenties; widowed and had a son who was almost the same age as she was. If instinct was right, that same boy now all grown up, was in that same shop today. His enthusiastic demeanor just like his own father, who as she sees it, is still working right beside his son.
A smirk plays upon her lips, seeing a middle aged man she recognizes as her neighbor through the shop window. As she enters she looks upwards toward the same familiar ring of the bell above the door. Her hand pulls off the handle, and the man gazes at her with familiarity as she scans the surrounding tables and stands in the middle of the brown and white checkered tile floor.
She is keenly aware from the corner of her eye that he is leaning against the handle of his broom that he had been sweeping with but she continues to search the premises until her green eyes strike a chord with another familiar face. Her father, to whom he raises a hand to her in greeting. Instinctively she senses the pattern of apprehension as he rests his hand back on the table in front of him.