Thin broad paperback splayed open. Heartfelt words by a local poet.
He stretches on the page, contracts against a nurtured state of snark.
Food. Ice tea.
Smartphone on the table, docile. Was that a buzz? No. Focus. Turn it face down.
Bag of papers of notes. Kindle in the bag.
This journal. Rectangles waiting for attention. Tending them in turn.
Piped in songs just loud enough to push folks away and maintain customer ingress/egress balance.
Three chairs at this small rectangle table empty, my bag in the chair to the right.
Left legged propped by my right knee, left foot resting then tapping on the lip of the chair across.
Glance at the chair’s backrest. How is… Where is…
Ideas pop in. Press pen into paper and bow back down to work.
