She stood behind the coffee bar, taking orders with an air of boredom and indifference. He paced around the outside seating area, smiling widely and talking loudly into his phone. They sat at the small table, giving their new puppy a small bowl of water the nice man inside had given them at no charge. And the writer, ever watching and ready, surveyed them all. He had long suspected that his life was always intended to be about other people, and today he was sure.
This brought him no end of comfort, and a fount of joy in his heart. It flowed through his chest, down his arm and out his pen. He found gems and stones, gold and coal in their conversations, body language and eye contact. He recorded and added flair to the lives of these people around him, sure that he would never know them, probably never see them again. Eventually as his coffee ran low and the people came and went, he reflected on himself. He had found a purpose in his words, a life long love affair even. Sometimes he forgot himself, but when he remembered, he had days like today.