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first time she had heard him speak...maybe this was a sign for her to make a move finally, get to know him. He continued his conversation directed partly at the girl behind the counter, but partly directed at no one in particular-or maybe everybody within earshot, "I bet I know what will be on the front page tomorrow."

"That was sort of a weird thing to say," thought the girl on the couch, trying to make some noise with her coffee cup and newspaper to at least get his attention turned toward her so she could smile at him.

Her last sensation, as far as she could recall, was something heavy hitting her in the stomach, and she barely recalled her hands trying to block it.

Sirens blared as smoke rose from the coffee shop that was once there. A tall man in a black suit with a white shirt and black tie was standing where the entrance used to be, scribbling something onto a legal pad. "The explosion started a midpoint in the restaurant, it seems like somewhere near where the counter was." He continued scribbling on something as he spoke into a small recorder. "It's still too early to tell, and there are no witnesses who are left alive, but it could've been some sort of suicide mission from one of the customers-maybe had dynamite attached to his chest, hidden by a shirt or coat."

As the sun came up the next morning, rolled up newspapers begin hitting front doors all over town. The headline read, "Explosion in Local Coffee Shop. No One Survives." A caption below a picture of smoke and firetrucks read, "Fire Investigators Believe it to be Work of a Suicide Bomber."

Learn more about this author, Bierce.
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