Sips sits down beside Trott, pressing up against his side and handing him his drink. Sips’ calico scarf flutters in the wind, discordant coloring draped over his burgundy and black bomber jacket. “Caramel macchiato for you, and a mocha frappuccino for me.” He clinks his styrofoam cup against Trott’s, and stretches his free arm across the back of the park bench.
Sips glances at the river and frowns. “Aw, shit, I forgot to bring bread for the ducks.”
CW: language? If I need to tag anything else, let me know.