ann4Chan

“Why do you wear the gloves?” She asks. I was waiting for this question. It always comes up. I sipped my coffee, delaying the answer, deciding how I would answer, staring at the thin, brown leather gloves that covered my hands like a second skin. I was sitting in a local coffee shop, Perk O’ Sit. It was near empty, only myself, the owner, Beth and an elderly couple. I was at the counter hunched over the coffee like a vulture, needing the caffeine and the company. Beth, a curvy woman in her early thirties, whose short dark hair was cut stylishly, almost like a boy’s, stood behind the counter waiting for my answer. Sh