Testing..

-Milo-
'Ice milo, 1 dollar.' the coffeshop auntie put the cup of milo on the table, sticking out a callused hand, face devoid of emotion. he hastily searched his wallet, gave her a 2 dollar note. she searched her pouch for change, almost slammed it on the table, and strode away, leaving him and his milo, not casting him a second glance.

It was far too early on a sunday morning for there to be any sort of crowd, if there ever was one in this obscure coffeshop. still not fully awake, he stared at the cup of milo for awhile. the cup was the usual translucent variety used by coffeeshops islandwide. he bent over to drink it, such that he viewed the cup from the top. paused. the milo at the surface was far too light. held the cup up. of course, the milo powder had all settled at the bottom. set it back down on the table.
He bent over again, grasped the straw, paused. sat there admiring the faint brown colour of the milo. seemed to hesitate. then stirred.

The surface was suddenly turbulent as the once-calm surface roared to life. a whirlpool of sorts was formed, sucking everything in a circular motion. ice cubes crashed against each other noisily. and he watched, transfixed, as the milo powder at the base was stirred up, and the surface turned a darker shade of brown.

Did he really need to do that? he thought he wouldn't like it if he didn't stir. perhaps he was right. Perhaps.

-explanation-
If u thought that to be the colour of milo (i.e. shitty), say 'aye'. anw. ok. it seems im going to have to write my first creative prose piece for writers inc anthology ><. (i hate doing poetry). however, my skill at this genre has been..untested. honestly i havent done any since pri school? so i figured i would have to start somewhere..=/