This was the first time she had ever collided with someone hard enough to make a sound. Neither of them fell in the coffee shop, but they crashed together so violently that the noise made everyone else look up. Of course there was now coffee everywhere-her clothes, the floor, his clothes.
“What the hell,” she said to him. She couldn’t gather her thoughts to come up with a sufficiently withering rant. She hadn’t even intended to come in for coffee; she had changed her mind at the last second, turning around after almost passing the door. Now this.
“I’m so sorry. Really, sorry. Look, I’ll buy yours,” he said, looking mortified.
“Why don’t you just look where you’re going?” she said, grabbing a bunch of napkins from the counter. Again, this was more pedestrian than she would have liked, but she had never been quick with a barb. Perhaps it was her Southern upbringing. Insults were couched in compliments in her experience, and that sort of discourse takes time.
“I was. I mean, I didn’t know you were coming in. What I mean is, I wasn’t looking where I was going. I was looking at you walking by.”