Sitting on a table for two just beside the cafe’s window was a guy.
I didn’t know him yet, I couldn’t stop staring at him, he had glanced at me a few times as is asking me, “Are you looking at me?” or perhaps with his eyes squinting to small lines behind his black rimmed glasses.
I was of course behind the counter serving up drinks and coffee for the customers and other regulars who frequent the cafe. I steal a glance at him a few times and noticed that he had the habit of blowing air to his short fringe in frustration to the book he was reading, one moment I even caught him staring out the window and I felt like he was looking at a certain point trying to figure out how things worked.
Finally, getting the courage to leave the counter and bus some tables, I came up to him and notice and Arabic tattoo on his lower right thumb, he kept on rubbing it with his left thumb while holding his mug of strong black coffee which had been his usual for the past couple of days.
He straightened up on his chair when I approached holding the refill of coffee, “Would you like more coffee, sir?” I asked trying to make eye contact but I sensed his tensed poise, he looked at the tattoo and rubbed it again and blew out his fringe as if to say that he was tried of the way he act when people come up to him.
He said yes to the coffee and I went back to cleaning tables and I noticed that he was writing rather fast on his black moleskin, he had this frustrated look on his face and his eyebrows arched in such a way that it may seem that he was very angry, I stood there watching him write on his notebook and more often than not touch the tattoo on the lower part of his thumb.
After awhile, he might’ve felt that he was being watched and caught my eye, I tried to smile at him and he responded with a curt nod and a small smile, he then approached me and handed me a note which he slowly tore from his moleskin notebook. He placed the folded paper in my hands and looked me straight in the eye and he managed a small smile, he let go of the paper and rubbed the tattoo, he looked back at the table and then turned his back on me and walked out of the cafe.
I opened the paper and it was a poem clearly written in a hurry but was well thought of,
Looking from the outside in
I can never be the man you need
I wish that your glances may save me
But only I can save myself
I didn’t know what to make of what he wrote, but one thing is for sure. He got me curious and intrigued.