She made a cup of coffee, using the one-cupper on the counter. She needed to taste the oils once again; it was a soothing comfort.
The cupper signalled that it was finished with a huge gurgle. She took the cup and put in two sugars and a dash of cream for colour. With cup in hand she stood out into the balcony.
The cool breeze was a comforting blanket around her; she saw the steam from the coffee rise and dissipate like sailors on shore leave. It was a cloudless evening and she could see the stars shining ever so brightly in the velvet sky.
"It is a beautiful evening, isn't it?" Trump asked. He was sitting on the railing staring over the vast city.
"That it is, my good friend," she replied after she took a sip from her coffee.
"Having those nightmares again are we?" he asked.
"I rightly don't know," Mags replied honestly.
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