Cold Glass

The balcony had offered all it could. I slipped back through the glass door into the quiet kitchen and climbed a stool up to the island counter. A heavy glass tumbler sat alone on the polished granite, chilled and beaded with dense droplets. I ran my thumb along the glass, carving a clean line through the condensation, then flicked the collected water onto the woven coaster beneath. The dried fibers instantly drank the bead into a dark ring. A quiet, harmless diversion for the afternoon.