A small transistor radio sits by the window of her apartment. It’s a quiet weekday afternoon. The chores are done, work can wait. A fresh cup of drip coffee sends up a gentle steam, curling into the air like a sigh. From the radio comes the soft sway of bossa nova, and the voice of a DJ with tones like freshly ground beans. "Cozy O'Clock… bringing you a moment of warmth this afternoon." The fan hums lazily. The aroma of coffee drifts through the room, mingling with the fading sound of cicadas outside. The leaves on the street trees seem a little darker today— perhaps summer is starting to slip away. She finds herself remembering a late summer afternoon from years ago— a quiet café just before sunset, a cup of coffee shared with someone whose smile she can still picture through the glass, tinted amber by the waning light. The DJ’s voice comes back on. It sounds just a little like his. 3:45 p.m. That fleeting moment before the sky turns red— just warm enough, just bittersweet enough, when steam and memory softly blend.