Sundays and Coffee

It was an adorable afternoon at Starbucks. An elderly man sitting far across me was napping with mouth wide open while his middle-aged companions were quietly reading the papers. He awoke when his daughter (I think) nudged him awake with a question.

A little earlier, I left my jacket on one of the tables, intending to reserve that table. Upon my return from ordering my drink, however, I found a man with a screaming yellow shirt and a very out-of-bed hair style sipping mango juice on my “reserved” table. Very weird man. He placed my jacket on the seat. As I got my jacket and transferred to the table in front of him, I was quietly wishing some very mean things upon him, like indigestion and hair loss.

Unable to open my laptop with its non-existent batteries and nowhere near an electric outlet, I read the papers. The yellow man reached for a newspaper behind me. He was, however, obviously either extremely bored or his mind wasn’t really into reading the Sunday paper because he was staring at a space on his left as I watched him from the corner of my eye.

All around me, people are either leisurely waiting for the hours to pass, fathers lounging around waiting for their family, children running around, worried nannies running after their wards while the mothers chatted, students studying, a few others, like me, typing away.

Such a quaint afternoon. It was, all in all, a relaxing Sunday afternoon as the elderly man slipped back into a light snooze.