touchedThe old man sat at a table in the corner. Although the table was set up to seat four, he sat alone. He was talking to himself not at all quietly and to the passive observer it seemed clear that this old man imagined that he had a companion with him in the coffee shop, with whom he was sharing some account. The words of his story were not easy to distinguish; however his voice could be clearly heard all the way across the room. Even so, the other patrons of the café carried on with their own business and conversations ignoring the storyteller near the window.
The straw hat that rested gently on the old man..s head looked fairly new, or at the very least well kept. He smiled while he talked, his animated face showing that the details of whatever tale he was weaving were warm memories drifting from the far reaches of his mind to his twinkling eyes. Chuckling he picked up his ice tea and took a sip. He wore a clean, well-pressed shirt and his brown wing-tip shoes were polished and tidy. His eyebrows had grown bushy with time and clearly his bones had grown smaller judging by the high placement of his slacks and belt on his hips.
In front of him he had placed a radio. It was one of those dual cassette, am/fm, single CD things that you might find in a cheerleaders practice session, or a teenagers room. Perhaps this was the answer to the mystery. Perhaps this was the great listener for his story. Occasionally as he spoke he would tap his toes on the red, stained concrete floor. The old man appeared to be relaxed, almost gleeful as he enjoyed his morning, remembering the experiences of his youth.
Eventually as he giggled and spoke his attention seemed to drift. His glance shifted from inside his memories to outside the window and his expression became more serious. His previous glee had been replaced by something else, sorrow perhaps and his story came to an abrupt halt. He sat in silence for a short time and then he stood up refolded his jacket as if he were going to leave, instead returning to his seated position at the café table draping the jacket across his lap.
He took another sip of ice tea and continued his story, but it didn..t last. His interest in storytelling had gone away, and he stood up one final time. Checking carefully that he had the chord for his portable stereo, he draped his jacket over his arm, picked up his belongings and moved towards the door. He paused just outside the window of the café and took in a deep breath of early autumn air, glanced around quickly, and departed.
The straw hat that rested gently on the old man..s head looked fairly new, or at the very least well kept. He smiled while he talked, his animated face showing that the details of whatever tale he was weaving were warm memories drifting from the far reaches of his mind to his twinkling eyes. Chuckling he picked up his ice tea and took a sip. He wore a clean, well-pressed shirt and his brown wing-tip shoes were polished and tidy. His eyebrows had grown bushy with time and clearly his bones had grown smaller judging by the high placement of his slacks and belt on his hips.
In front of him he had placed a radio. It was one of those dual cassette, am/fm, single CD things that you might find in a cheerleaders practice session, or a teenagers room. Perhaps this was the answer to the mystery. Perhaps this was the great listener for his story. Occasionally as he spoke he would tap his toes on the red, stained concrete floor. The old man appeared to be relaxed, almost gleeful as he enjoyed his morning, remembering the experiences of his youth.
Eventually as he giggled and spoke his attention seemed to drift. His glance shifted from inside his memories to outside the window and his expression became more serious. His previous glee had been replaced by something else, sorrow perhaps and his story came to an abrupt halt. He sat in silence for a short time and then he stood up refolded his jacket as if he were going to leave, instead returning to his seated position at the café table draping the jacket across his lap.
He took another sip of ice tea and continued his story, but it didn..t last. His interest in storytelling had gone away, and he stood up one final time. Checking carefully that he had the chord for his portable stereo, he draped his jacket over his arm, picked up his belongings and moved towards the door. He paused just outside the window of the café and took in a deep breath of early autumn air, glanced around quickly, and departed.
bitchy 
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