Smile

I smiled at him while he was preparing my coffee. It was a proper smile that starts at your deepest self, brushes against your muscles making them soft and amicable then curls up the corners of your lips and ends up as a twinkle in the eyes. He smiled back. It was just a good service smile, that lingers only on lips sometimes parting them. I felt a ping of disappointment, but I took my coffee and gave away one more real smile accompanied by a soundtrack of my bank card transaction. He smiled back with a clumsy half-real smile and handed me the receipt. I had pierced through his armors, my job here was done.