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Goddess by Jon Hansen From the instant the goddess walked in, Ben couldn't take his eyes off her. Where other customers tracked in dirty imprints of their snow boots, she trailed rose petals, curling pink on the dirty linoleum. Not that she even wore boots, of course; her feet were bare, as was the rest of her, save for a few spans of strategically placed white silk. She wasn't the first divine creature Ben had seen, of course; he must have served a half-dozen avatars and godlings this week alone, more since they started serving Jamaican Blue. But this one. Oh, this one had power, made all the more compelling by the grey January morning squatting outside. Automatically Ben set a tall dark espresso on the counter. Without a word the goddess took it, sweetened it by swirling one long finger in it, then strolled to the table at the window. She didn't offer to pay. Ben didn't ask. Horatio, the owner, had told him not to. "If you don't give them an offering, they'll never come back," he said whenever someone asked why. He |
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