staring

I biked a little out of the way to a cafe that I like with a plan; I was going to read my new book and drink a latte. I walked in, ordered my drink for-here, and settled down in a rather secluded area of the place. My book wasn't in my bag! I didn't know what to do with myself. I always do things, hipsteremo or embarrassing things, in the coffee shops like...reading French, writing in my little moleskin, having a discussion about something or another. I decided that I would just stare into space. Or if an unsuspecting person walked into my field of vision, they would be people-watched. I sipped my latte and looked at every piece of art I could spy. Then I stared at people using their laptops and the people who would walk by the window. I kept hoping that it would rain but there was no chance of that happening. I looked at my fingernails and analyzed the stains on my table. I crossed by legs and picked at the hairs I missed when I shaved. I noticed how poorly I had painted my little pinkytoe.

Then I was caught off-guard. A strange, coffee shop philosopher, could he be homeless?, Type appeared, seated, at the table across from me, on the other side of the room. He was staring right at me. I guess he didn't have anything to do either. I stared back. He was scraggly-bearded and had crystal-eyes. He had in front of him a laptop computer from 1999. (Did they make those back then?) It had a sticker on it that said "My Vote counts more than y'all's". I stared at all of it. Every single bit of it. He was doing the same. I didn't expect it, but I guess we really did have a lot in common.