Voices mingle with the scuffle of shoes clicking,
and doors slamming shut.
The smell of coffee and cinnamon buns permeates
the air...
Movement...sound...senses rage in overdrive,
and yet still.
Questions of whether the coffee is actually tea,
or are these simply pancakes...just not so flat?

I recognize some of the faces from long ago,
especially the man in the glass.
He stares into my eyes without notice,
melancholy and mystery hovering close by...

It is his frozen voice that I mimic from time to time.
Standing to shuffle my way to the door and you
are here too, in the corner alone..
I had hoped you'd never find me here...
Slicing through plumes of blue smoke,
Your eyes invite me to sit with you.
I am near you now... settled in this booth,
and not so alone.

Gregory