A bit I wrote and have to post or else delete.

The snow has been falling for days. Last night, you ran down the sidewalk, catching the fat white flakes on your tongue, flinching ever so slightly at the sharp, cold bite that lasted an instant before fading like a memory. You were drunk then and today the light snowflakes weigh a hundred pounds as you shake them off your coat and sit down at a booth near the back, next to the stack of week old newspapers and empty ashtrays on the bar. You pat your flushed cheeks and idly stare at the menu, all the while silently cursing the dull ache in your skull and the unease in your stomach. You consider orange juice, but when the waitress arrives, you order coffee instead. She's small and pretty, with dark hair and circles under her eyes. She doesn't smile. Neither do you.
You don't know if he's going to show up or not. Your not even sure why you agreed to meet, but he seemed so earnest and so desperate, like a lost dog begging for scraps at the back door, that you decided the least you could do was hear him out. You'd had too much to drink the night before and something about the cold and gray of the passing days made you crave something warm and familiar. Today, though all you can think about is how you wish you'd stayed in bed and how much he let you down. The waitress returns, smiling now with a cup of coffee and an apology for the wait. You smile back, and can see sadness in her eyes and, for a moment, you're unsure if it's her or your own reflected back.
You sigh and reach for the cream and sugar as the door opens and he walks in.