- Last Record: 2012-10-19 14:44:16 +0900
- Joined: Oct 19, 2012
The man looked to be a few inches taller than I, a bowler hat on his head with sharp, blonde edges peeking out from under. He had a briefcase in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other, looking nervous and out of place in the diner's doorway.
Eventually, a patron made to leave, glaring at the man before muttering, "Excuse me!" in a tone suggested the man should have known better.
The man stepped aside, blinking twice at the person who passed him but otherwise unaffected. The thing about this man, the thing that made it impossible to look away, was that he didn't seem to be searching. He simply was.
I thought he should have been a businessman, maybe, of some failing company that at once seemed promising but now left him his own sectary. He would be here to meet some investor, ensure them the company was fine but their money could make it better. (After all, money could make all things better.)
Then I looked to the flowers and thought him to be a lover. Perhaps I am shallow but with his gelled down hair and sweater tucked into his pants, I thought him the dog on the leash of some woman who kept him around because she was lonely.
"I'm done with you," the woman would say to the stranger, as he came to meet her at her usual table at the back of the diner. "You can't give me anything." The stranger would shake his head.
"I can give you love. I'll never leave you. If we have no money, no shelter, no food- I'll make you feel rich, full, protected." The woman would roll her eyes, "Yeah, tell me another one."
He'd give her the flowers. Depending on her mood, she might be charmed.
As it was the man seemed to be neither. The man appeared content with his briefcase, flowers, and bowler hat standing off to the side.
He didn't look to the counter where I was, he didn't take a seat, he didn't order coffee, like I did. He stood and stared ahead. I wondered if he had a purpose or if he were entirely without one and whether that made him more or less enviable.
Thirty minute passed, I paid for my coffee. I read fifteen pages out of the book I didn't really like but had checked out from the library for another few days. Finally, I forced myself to leave.
"Goodbye," I said the the stranger on my way out. I did not look back to see if he heard me. That, I told myself, was what he was waiting for.