Go to a local coffee shop, order your favourite drink, and write a story inspired by an incident in a coffee shop before you finish your drink (20 minute timer)
Shots fired. The crowd looks up, confused and predictably terrified, locking eyes with one another and scanning the shop for the source of the commotion. The barista appears unconcerned, barely breaking her rhythm of brewing a foamy drink for the customer in line. High-pitched screeches follow, piercing through the restlessness and evoking a heightened sense of fear. People begin to throw themselves up and forward, hastening toward the door. From the back of the cafe, another barista walks out, wearing a blood-stained t-shirt, and carrying a large sack. He tilts the bag over a drum near the counter, coffee pouring out endlessly as if vacuumed directly from a plantation. The coffee scarcity made it an invaluable commodity, reserved and poured only for the very rich. The acquisition and storage of beans became a criminal world of their own, although usually out of sight and underground. Not many had the opportunity to anticipate or witness the means of supply. A wave of sighs settled over the shop. Sipping resumed, as if the preceding violence were merely a fleeting inconvenience, a momentary disruption in the privileged flow of caffeine. The barista reloaded the coffee machine and proceeded to take the next order.