He was sitting behind me in a resteraunt
Alone
Engrossed in a book
An Iranian author
A set of essays
He was nice to the waiter
A foreign accent, a tattoo of the sea and bright red hair
A candle created shadows on his face
I turned around
I like to explore unknown territory
He held out his phone
Out of place in the context of his person
Perhaps that's why he hasn't made any more contact
Like the fleeting patterns on his skin on a cold city night