Amy lived her life, she learned things, she photographed people, she moved, and she photographed new people. It was as simple a life an immortal person could live. She could not become something more than average otherwise people would know her secret, so that was just how it worked. Living many normal lives.
Another day, another life to lead. This year she owned a coffee shop. Each time she did this she wondered why she didn't do it more often. Partially because of the costs, owning a restaurant or anything of the sort was difficult to keep up with, even though she had many life times behind her telling her exactly what to do. Most of the reason she didn't do it was because of the people. She was a person who loved other people too much and that doesn't help you very much in a coffee shop. You write your name on too many coffee cups and eventually someone returns the love and you have to watch them degrade like a stone on the ocean shore line. That was the way of life for her. No more lovers because the pain of losing them was too much. And it wasn't that this could only happen at coffee shops, she just met the worst people of her life there. The ones she spent the rest of their lives with. Who she told herself she wouldn't write down her name and number on the cup but this feeling, call it fate, always made her do it.
This day was as ordinary as any other. Her dress blossomed from under her apron and the aromas of baked goods and coffee fluttered around the coffee shop.
