Another story for the Fictioneers, thanks to Rochelle’s prompt. I’ll keep this quick; I hear Sebastian stirring!
He was staring so hard, he thought the glass might crack. It was there, just like yesterday, just like every day since he’d started coming to this cafe: a stained glass window depicting sunshine and a steaming mug of the black stuff.
But today, there were words: 708 Fulton. An address, perhaps? Or an army squadron? An old-fashioned English telephone number? He couldn’t escape the feeling that it was put there for him to see.
He sipped at his coffee and stared. Then an idea formed in his head. He put down the mug and walked out into the sunshine.