I could write without listening to music, but Iâm so glad I donât have to. Hereâs a partial playlist of some of the music I listened to while writing Collide. Please support the artist through legal sources!
âBreathe MeââSia
âBulletproof WeeksââMatt Nathanson
âCity LightsââMirror
âCloserââKings of Leon
âCollideââHowie Day
âDamn I Wish I Was Your LoverââSophie B. Hawkins
âDonât Pull Your LoveââHamilton, Joe Frank and Reynolds
âDream a Little Dream of MeââThe Mamas and the Papas
âGhostsââChristopher Dallman
âGoodbye HorsesââPsyche
âI Think She KnowsââKaki King
âIâm Burning for YouââBlue Ãysters Cult
âIfââBread
âIf You Want to Sing Out, Sing OutââCat Stevens
âIncense and PeppermintsââStrawberry Alarm Clock
âJe tâaime moi non plusââSerge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin
âJoy to the WorldââThree Dog Night
âKiss You All OverââDr. Hook
âLabor of LoveââMichael Giacchiniâs Star Trek
(Music from the Motion Picture)
âLascia châio pianga PrologueââAntichrist Soundtrack
âLife on MarsââDavid Bowie
âPurple HazeââThe Cure
âShambalaââThree Dog Night
Oranges.
The smell of oranges drifted toward me. I put a hand on the back of the chair nearest me and searched the countertop for fruit in a basket. Something, anything, that would explain the smell, which was as out of place in this coffee shop as a Santa suit in the sand. I didnât see anything that would explain the scent, and I drew in a deep breath. Iâd learned a long time ago there was no point in trying to hold my nose or my breath. Better to breathe through this. Get it over with.
The smell passed quickly, gone in a few blinks, a couple of heartbeats, replaced by the stronger odor of coffee and pastries. My fingers had tightened on the chair but I didnât even need the support. I oriented myself before letting go of the chair to finish moving toward the counter where Iâd been heading to add sugar and cream to my coffee.
It had been almost two years since my last fugue. That one had been equally as mild, but the fact this one had been barely a blip didnât offer much comfort. Iâd had periods in my life when the fugues had come hard and fast and often, essentially crippling me. It was too much to hope they would go away, but I didnât want to go back to that.
âHey, girl, heyyyyyy!â Jen called from the booth sheâd snagged just inside the Mochaâs door. She waved. âOver here!â
I waved and finished adding the sugar and cream, then wove my way through the jumble of chairs and tables to slide into the booth across from Jen. âHey.â
âOoh, what did you get?â Jen leaned forward to peer into my coffee mug as though that would give her some idea about what was in there. She sniffed. âGerman chocolate?â
âClose. Chocolate Delight.â I named one of the two featured coffees. âWith a shot of vanilla-bean syrup.â
Jen smacked her lips. âMmm. Sounds good. Iâm going to choose mine. Hey, what did you get to eat?â
âBlueberry muffin. Shouldâve gone with the chocolate cupcake, but I thought maybe that would be too much.â I showed her the plate with the muffin.
âToo much chocolate? As if. Be right back.â
I stirred my coffee to distribute the syrup, extra sugar and cream, then sipped, enjoying the extra sweetness most people didnât like. Jen was right. I shouldâve gone for the cupcake.
Jen had picked the wrong time to get in line. The midmorning rush had begun, customers lined up four-deep, all the way to the front door. She threw me an annoyed look and a shrug I could only laugh at in sympathy.
The coffee shop had been pretty empty when I entered, but customers who were put off by the line had started snagging tables while they waited to take their turns. I waved at Carlos over in the corner, but he had his earbuds settled deep and his laptop already open. Carlos was working on a novel. He sat in the Mocha from ten to eleven every morning before he went off to work, and on Saturdays, like today, he sometimes stayed longer.
Lisa, her backpack bulging with textbooks, took a table a few seats away and wiggled her fingers at me without noticing Jenâs semifrantic waving for me to ignore her. Lisa sold Spicefully Tasty products to pay her way through law school, and though Iâd never found her sales pitches annoying, Jen couldnât stand them. Today, though, Lisa seemed preoccupied, focusing on setting out her books and notepad, already clicking her pen as she shrugged out of her coat.