Narratives · Short Notes

the old man across from me

The familiar brand screams at me silently as I sit here writing, but the sweet smell of cream and the bitter fumes of coffee calm my troubled mind. Across from me sits a man. I can feel his gaze lingering just over my head- my eyes need not assure my mind, but they do regardless. He is aged, the way I hope to never be. On his head he wears a grey cap, a sort of grey cap that takes my soul back to an era I never lived. His tired eyes are magnified by lenses that seem glued to his visage. Our gazes meet, and I smile. Then, in turn, the old man smiles as well. Now, after this brief exchange I will pack up my things and leave. The old man will die and so will I.

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