I was getting into the meat of my vegetarian samosa, the heart of the matter of the oh-so-flaky doughy, mashed potato chunks, when I heard the door open.
A third instinct told me that it was him. I could see him pause through the double-doors. Puzzled by the choice of place, debating possibly a hasty turn-back and retreat.
He had picked the shift and I the place.
Hesitation. A Pause. A quick glance around, a brief survey of the species that milled.
I chewed ingesting his side profile. He caught me mid-chew, spying on him. I looked away but not quickly enough. He caught me. A tight smile, a fleeting sense of relief.
He had spotted the reason why he was here. DRAT.
He had a certain unshakeable sense about him- like an old boulder at the base of a mountain, immutable and seemingly forever.
We looked at each other. A platonic silence hummed deep underneath an unnamed ocean. We were swimming in the dark pool of blind dates determined by an algo.
On the longest day of the year, of an okay-ish morning, I had a visitor.
It was 2018, June the 21st.
A hermetic cave of silence had been invaded. Alarms had not gone off.
I looked up. Said intruder was propped precariously on shoulder——— of my ratty couch. Hanging over my head practically.
A beatific smile. Stunning no-mind silence for a few.
I had a visitor. Gender un-specific, definitively. He-she-it. NOT an East Coasty.