He is sitting in the booth right next to the gigantic window,
Trying to solve this particularly infuriating problem.
He sighs and takes another sip of his half full cup of coffee and glances up at the window.
A dull throng, a rhythmic flow of people...
And that's when she walks in.
Not walks so much so as danced into his sight,
Bleeding colours.
The sight was a picture taken from another year,
A sepia of faded colours and frozen smiles and hair caught in the breeze and coats ruffled at the necks.
A picture that would be stared at fondly during Christmases and New Years.
A picture that would become a story for all the grandkids sitting and giggling on eggnog,
And a story to be remembered in the softly lit room with a face next to the pillow.
But for now it was a picture to be taken, or to be lost,
And so he stumbled out of his booth
And rushes off to the road
To catch hold of her and say
"You look lost, need help?".
*click!*
