The familiar door swings open at my touch,
Greeting me with the aromas I’ve come to love.
Surveying the room I find the old man in his corner,
Muttering under his breath about something in the paper.
His face creases to form an unpleasant look, one that's been there before.
The gruff hand reaches out to the liquid gold on his right, and he brings it to his thirst quenching Lips.
The lines fade, but only slightly.
I recede further into the cafe until an intruding fragrance invades my lungs,
Suffocating, I back up as the waitress blows by me,
And I see the trail of fumes chasing after her.
She shuttles over to the table with a young couple,
If they couldn't make it anymore obvious.
Their hands are laced together in a peculiar pattern,
And their eyes only see each others - typical.
Nervous laughter and smiles pass between them as a bottle would be passed about,
Red rushes to the cheeks when a compliment slips out on "accident."
I tear my eyes away, I can't handle young love today,
So I make my way to my table,
My old, coffee stained, uneven legged table in the corner.
From here I can see the business man sitting at the closest table to the door.
I know he's a business man not from his sharp suit and brief case,
but from the way he keeps checking his watch.
Checking it like he has someplace to be, someone to met, like the time can't possibly be right.
And before I can make another assumption of the man,
The store spits him out.
Leaving behind an empty chair, a paper unopened and steam fleeing from a cup.