vignette 1

Draft
just something I've been working on. It's time for new stories.

At that time, you were reading your notes at a crowded fast food restaurant. The words in front of you blurred, and you lifted your head to look at the street from inside the glass windows. A blue car honked, and I jerked.

Then for some crazy reason, sunlight fell on this old man sitting by the post near the door. He had Chinese eyes, sunken cheekbones and almost no hair. He was looking at me, with only the side of his face to you, but you didn’t notice. You were too busy looking at him.

I wonder why.

After checking my place in the line for the ATM machine, I looked across the street at you again. People were passing you by—the bustling waiters in their yellow and black uniforms, a couple of small kids running around, and yet, you stared. You stared at this old man, with his empty spaghetti Styrofoam container in front of him, who was staring out at the street himself. At me.

There were five more people ahead of me at the queue, and my mind drifted. I shifted my legs a bit, conscious of the old man. Was he some kind of pervert? Did I resemble any of his former lovers? Was he thinking of money he lost? Or debts piling up in his little house in rural Dumaguete? What was he doing alone at his age?

I turned towards your corner in the restaurant, but you caught me looking. Then, you went back at your notes. But in that brief moment, I realized with a start: We had the same eyes.

oOo

By the way, here are some pictures I saw on Jordan's Multiply site taken during the Parada Sillimaniana. I'm getting tired of my text-heavy blog=)