young man, blue jeans and green shirt, dock shoes, elbow on his knees, leans in, waving his hand accentuating each word for his lover, eye lids fill with the weight of the conversation, ready to spill desperation, leaking down his cheek.
"it's more than the sex..." the line moves.
a middle aged couple, lost in their own conversation, slip between me and the scene unfolding. she leans into him, lips parting at his ear, her words a breath, he smiles, hand sliding from her shoulder down, pausing lightly at her elbow.
"good morning, what can i get for you today?" the line moves.
kicked back, relaxed, white shirt & gym shirt, in deference to the cold outside, he sits passive to his lover's plea. the line moves.
tap. tap. tap. cane's rap across the floor, eyes ringed in creases, they settle in comfortable seats, he into his book as she sips. cup to lip, stolen looks like letters to each other. the line moves.
my fingers find the warm walls of my cup of coffee & play at the seam, where the cardboard comes together. bells rattle on the door announcing another coming, another going & the line keeps moving.
& the line keeps moving.