It's amazing really—the things a person can see. Just this morning, Bill (he looks like a
Bill to me) ordered a latte and flirted shamelessly with the barista. He leaned across the counter, lowered his
voice, and slid a five dollar tip underneath her fingers. The barista giggled, he laughed and I stifled
the urge to clear my throat.
I walked to my favorite table and I noticed Bill was seated
close by. As was my custom, I decided to
invent a life for Bill. I imagined he
was a successful surgeon, who at any moment would receive an urgent call,
prompting him to abandon his morning coffee and hurry to the hospital. Of course, being a world renowned surgeon
left little time for a social life, which in turn, explained his attraction to
the young barista. Surrounded by such
intense pressure, pulling patients back from the brink of death—the barista's
youth must have been intoxicating…
Except that wasn't the truth.
I watched as she approached Bill's table, pushing a
stroller. I couldn't hear what she said
as she bent down, placing a quick kiss on his check but Bill looked
resigned. Hmmm. Obviously, she is Bill's wife. I think I'll call her Natalie. Natalie could use a fashion pointer or
two—like the importance of brushing her hair.
I glance back at Bill.
Gone is the flirt. He's now deflated,
slumping in his chair, a hand on the stroller.
It's sad really, the things you can learn by just watching the people
around you. Very sad indeed. I look at Bill and wonder if he wishes he was
a surgeon.
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