This was the third day that I’d been watching him. On the first, I had happened upon him completely by chance. It had been pouring and the streets were filling with puddles big enough to drown in and the sewers were overflowing and everything glowed beneath a sheet of fresh rain. I ducked into a small cafe, nestled into a corner draped with the cloak of the city. My eyes were not immediately drawn to him when I first entered, for his head was ducked low, holding a book as though it was precious matter with his coffee going cold, black with no milk and I wondered for a moment if he slept because his eyes were sunken and his posture was peculiar, twisting into a foreboding shape to warn off any unwanted conversation, he motioned for a re-fill and mumbled something as it arrived, still on this third day the only sounds that he made were low murmurs of thank yous and pleases with awkward eye contact and a half smile so I wondered, why here because it’s not for the coffee and definitely not the company so I mustered up the up the courage to ask why, his gaze was almost so frightening that I turned to walk away until he saw the book in my hand and smiled, a real one and he told me that he comes here to read so that he can truly appreciate the stories whist keeping an eye on civilisation, or something like it so that he would never take for granted the lines of prose that he entwined himself with the hopes that one day he will float away on a sea of letters and finally be free, I smiled, knowingly and so did he but we never spoke again.
Created: May 21, 2012Saskia2406 Document Media