Coffee

Candice stared at her black coffee. The steam swirled like smoke in the air, vanishing as soon as it appeared. She didn't like black coffee. She didn't know why she'd bought it.

Maurice stared at his cup of coffee with milk. He'd gotten it from McDonald's that morning – someone had given him a card for the place a few weeks ago, and it hadn't run out yet. He took a sip. He liked it.

Candice looked at the hobo just outside the door. His eyes were sky blue, and he was sipping coffee. The chill didn't bother him – he had a ragged coat that nonetheless looked like it kept him warm. She watched his eyes examine the coffee, then broaden to the cityscape around him. She wondered what the city looked like through brightly blue eyes.

Maurice looked at the taxis and buses as they passed him by, reading the ads idly. It was busy and humming in the city, as usual. After the coffee woke him up a bit, he'd bring out his violin and walk down to Fourth. He could usually get a few dollars there. He didn't mind being a hobo so much – he had more time for his music that way.

Candice watched the man get up and walk away, coffee in hand and violin case at his side. She wondered if he was mad at the government for the economy. She wondered if maybe playing the violin was what he'd wanted to do all along.

Maurice watched the traffic light, and crossed the street. Some people smiled, other didn't notice him. They were too intent on their own jobs and their own lives – on things they didn't care about.

Neither of them saw the plane, shadowed as they were by the two tall buildings. Both of them heard the crash, but only briefly. Then, all was blank.

Inspiration: Prompt -- "hobo"