I stopped at a Starbuck's on 2nd Avenue in New York City on the upper east side. I purchased a grande and went over to a vacant table near the window that had two empty chairs. I sat down in the closest one and intended to put my computer on the other chair. I pulled back the chair and saw this notebook lying on its seat. It contained the story of a woman, named Dakota, who tried to save her marriage but ended up not only losing that but also so much of what she believed she stood for that she was unable to look at herself ...
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I stopped at a Starbuck's on 2nd Avenue in New York City on the upper east side. I purchased a grande and went over to a vacant table near the window that had two empty chairs. I sat down in the closest one and intended to put my computer on the other chair. I pulled back the chair and saw this notebook lying on its seat. It contained the story of a woman, named Dakota, who tried to save her marriage but ended up not only losing that but also so much of what she believed she stood for that she was unable to look at herself in the mirror. She told this tale to this notebook looking for help.
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