It was seven minutes past three when he walked in. I greeted him with a quick “good afternoon”, making an effort not to sound spurious. He showed no sign of ever hearing my spiel. He glanced upward and scanned the items overhead, slowly turning his head left to right and back again. Unconsciously, he stroked his goatee while he considered his options. I couldn’t see his eyes — his wire-rimmed glasses reflected the fluorescent lamp from the ceiling. Occasionally, the light draft from the air conditioner ruffled his bangs, obscuring his view.

He was wearing a plain black shirt over black jeans. Over his shoulder, he slung a small dark blue backpack. He stood, still undecided, and let out a visible sigh at the same time slid both his thin, pale hands in his front pockets. In a quick moment, his right hand rose to adjust his spectacles while his left hand unceremoniously unfolded a crumpled mauve hundred bill into view. He bit his lower lip and stared at the piece of paper. His left hand went back to his pocket and he muttered something I couldn’t hear over the Sunset Daze song playing on the radio.

He took a step towards me and cleared his throat, “One tall cappuccino please.”


This piece originally appeared in Paperbag Origami as a creative writing exercise.