Coffee, Strangers and Black Biro

I’m sitting in Starbucks
with a mocha flake in hand.
I love coffee shops.
The rich scent of coffee beans,
the relaxed atmosphere,
their idiosyncratic nature.
There’s a girl at the back
quietly sipping a cappuccino
there’s a scruffy book
sitting on her table and
a napkin with a coffee ring stain.
I can tell something’s bothering her
she looks like she’s waiting for someone
she keeps looking all around the shop,
out the window at the street and into
her coffee intensely, as if she’s absorbed
in her own straying thoughts as she
looks at the froth and chocolate powder.
She looks up and notices me staring
I turn away quickly, quite embarrassed,
although, from the corner of my eye,
I can see her smile. It makes me feel good.
I watch her scribble something on her napkin.
She checks her watch, takes one last swig of coffee,
lifts her book and puts her coat on to leave.
As she walks passed my table
she places the stained napkin in front of me
and exits the shop doors.
Some words are written in black biro,
“You look like the perfect stranger.”
I smile.