He looks concentrated.
Concentrated on writing something on his white laptop. His tattooed arms are strained. From time to time he scratches his heavy beard and drinks Americano after. Shabby flat cap gives him low-key look. His phone rings. He answers “Allo” with emphasis on ‘O’. Frenchman... He talks in a pleasant low voice. I understand nothing, but smile when he pronounces letter “R”. It tickles my ears. His palm slides over his nape, his teeth ruthlessly bite dry lips. He looks seductive.
The desire to smoke suspends my observations and I go out into the street.Cigarettes taste amazing, especially after a cup of hot chocolate. It drizzles. My perfectly straightened hair slowly transforms into terrible mess. Boy, I hate autumn so much.
All of a sudden I hear “Sorry” behind my back. Soft “R” prompts me that this is the same French stranger from the café. He needs the lighter. I give him my pink Zippo with a stupid “Kiss me” sticker on it. He frowns. I blush. His perfume caresses my nostrils. He is so close to me. Oh God!
My cigarette finishes, so I leave him without a word, go back to the warm café.
Stupid smirk graces my face.
It is almost 5pm, my courses start in half an hour. I have to finish writing down an essay. Is he still there smoking? I turn my head to see him standing outside, under the rain, enjoying ‘Lucky Strike’... But there is no one except ugly grey pigeon.
Agrrrrr... Pigeons...
Somehow I deal with my home task and go out, but don’t manage to go far. Something pink on the parapet wall grabs my attention. Damn, my lighter! I quickly grab it and try to wipe it off. But stop. Huge smile rises on my face, heart extremely starts to beat. “Boy, what a day!”- I whisper, staring at the words written with permanent marker on the side of the lighter: ‘I will. Tomorrow. Here. 7pm’.
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