This guy is sitting down on a couch across the room from three empty tables. A girl sits at one of the empty tables. She opens a book and begins reading and I spotted him staring at her from the couch. He seems to be here for other people, she, to read.
After three minutes he comes over and strikes up a conversation “First time, here. Didn’t know they played music.” Then she goes silent and puts her head in her book. Then he goes silent and puts his head in his earphones typing faster and faster on his computer making little smirks and rubbing his hand over his face as if he’s seemingly stumped by an improbable circumstance in his writings. Then he tries to speak to her one more time as another man in a buttoned down shirt and blue and white stripes sits directly in between them, putting his arm around her, letting everyone in the room know she was here, waiting for him. They chat briefly, mostly him explaining what they’ll be doing tonight, and off they go while the writer sits with his big earphones, nodding his head and staring dejectedly at the floor; out the window into the streets.
His pain is so delicious I may have to skip dinner.