Coffee Shop

The old man shuffles in slowly, the bystanders worried that the weight of the door he's holding open will suddenly become overwhelming and sweep him and his cane inside sooner and more dangerously than planned. But his grip holds true and he enters.

He is permanently bent so that his chin is nearly on his chest, and when looking at him straight on, rather than seeing his face, one sees only the top of his cap.

Patiently waiting for the cashier, he orders a coffee once they're available to take his order. After they hand it to him he makes his way to the table nearby and sits down facing the window, gazing out from under his turtle like posture.

His back is humped, one shoulder higher than the other, with liver spots scattered lightly across his face and hands. His attire includes a long sleeve Tommy Jeans shirt, chest pocket laden with various accessories like glasses and checkbook, dark Docker style pants, dress socks and dark loafers. A San Francisco Giants hat covers his head of shortly cropped white hair, the most incongruent piece of his apparel. Simple spectacles rest on his nose, hearing aids sit in both ears, and a large ring adorns his right ring finger.

He occasionally pulls a slightly out-of-date Verizon cell phone out of a holster on his belt, whether to check the time or send a text message is not evident from a distance. It looks out of place in his lined hands, but the older model is somehow appropriate.

After sitting for a while, sipping his coffee and looking out the window, he slowly stands up and grabs his cane from the crook between the table and wall where he leaned it. He walks back to the door, exiting this time, and makes it through successfully again. He merely wanted a change of scenery though, now sitting at a table on the patio.

It would not be far-fetched to speculate that he is a man on his own, a widower perhaps, but he has the appearance of waiting for someone, a conjecture spurred on by the intermittent fondling of his phone. Sure enough, only a couple minutes go by before another older (but much younger than him) gentleman approaches and sits down with a full smile on his face. Dressed simply in jeans and a long sleeve pullover shirt, the recent arrival soon walks in to order a drink before going back out to join his friend.

Looking back, the old man suddenly has some kind of treat in a baggie, produced from some hidden pocket while my head was turned. It looks to be some sort of cookie, or perhaps biscotti. Something dry and crumbly that an old man would carry in his pocket to snack on throughout the day.

The two men carry on cordially, the younger of the two being much more active in his motions, nodding his head and leaning across the table at times in a way that suggests a closeness between them. The old man sits much more stilly, but is still engaged in the conversation. Both men continue sipping their drinks between words, laughs, smiles, and nods.

The surrounding patio and parking lot is busy with people coming and going from the coffee shop and surrounding stores and eateries. There are students studying, friends reminiscing, and couples chatting. The sky is a cool grey, but not thickly overcast, with slight patches of light blue showing here and there. A slight breeze swirls by now and then.

It is a perfect Saturday afternoon.