Coffee Shop Man

I'm sitting in the waiting room at Cambridge. It's virtually
deserted, apart from the three people over staffing the tiny coffee
stall in a corner. As a man leaves for his train, the young man deserts
his post behind the counter and fixes his eyes on me, sitting
cross-legged on the hard metal of the chair and writing, as he crosses
to the paper cup the man left behind, his eyes staring all the time. He
returns to his counter, and I watch his arse move in his low-slung
trousers as he lounges back across the floor, dragging his heels and
with his head thrown back. He moves in easy harmony with his body,
relaxed and confident in a way that makes me shift in my seat. I enjoy
the moment.