illustrated by roy dismas
 angie. angie. he could murmur the name to himself forever. angelina. mother thought it a common name. so did grandmother and aunt caroline. but conrad was twenty-three years old and he thought it was beautiful. he took another sip of his coffee and looked around the automat. he was amazed at how bright it was and how you he could just sit there for hours without being asked to leave. the young woman at the change desk seemed the closest thing to a person in charge of the establishment, and she hardly ever glanced up from her magazine to even look at the patrons.  a week ago he might have stolen a few glances at the young woman reading her magazine. he might have described her as "not half bad looking " to the other fellows at the brokerage house. that was before he met angie. where was angie? in his daydreaming he had lost track of the time. he took his watch out of his vest pocket, and looked up at the clock on the wall. they agreed that it was ten minutes past nine. |
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