It is his year. He is sure of it.
The Blob sits in a corner seat at the back of the dingy cafe he frequents when he feels like treating himself.
He sips at a black coffee, and plays with the paper wrapping, laterly enrobing the two sugar cubes he dropped into the cup.
Helga, the waitress, looks up and catches him watching her. She smiles, awkwardly, and looks away.
He looks down at his coffee and then back up at her.
He has been coming to this cafe for four years.
Almost to the day, he thinks.
He moved into a cramped apartment three doors down and decided this would be his local.
He can't afford to drink coffee here every day, even though it is cheap (by the standards of other coffee emporiums in the area), but he comes when he can.
Helga has been working here for six months, or so.
He knows she is a student, but he is not sure what she is studying.
He has never asked her.
Other than asking for a black coffee when he arrives and saying goodbye when he leaves, he has never really spoken to her.
...
