The walls were painted a speckled blue. Funny thing about speckles is they mask their own decay. An old man sat at the window table meant for two. He was halfway through both a butter croissant and the Sunday crossword.
Outside the trees had long since started to don their winter colors. A stale gray sky pressed down upon his view of the plaza. Shop-goers did not dawdle, but took to their tasks with a resoluteness that he brokered distance between them and their surroundings. Including the cold.
"There's not really much more to it," he thought aloud, tapping a cane against the empty chair next to him.
At the utterance, the barista looked over at him briefly, deemed it safe to ignore, and went back to his phone.
Outside the trees had long since started to don their winter colors. A stale gray sky pressed down upon his view of the plaza. Shop-goers did not dawdle, but took to their tasks with a resoluteness that he brokered distance between them and their surroundings. Including the cold.
"There's not really much more to it," he thought aloud, tapping a cane against the empty chair next to him.
At the utterance, the barista looked over at him briefly, deemed it safe to ignore, and went back to his phone.