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That Peculiar Boy

Hello! How’ve you been?
Me? Oh, I’m just fine
So, how’s everything at....
Wait! This isn’t about you or me for that matter
What is this about, you ask
Well, my dear readers, this is about that peculiar boy
That boy (man?) who sits by the window	
In the quaint little tea shop around the corner

I don’t know why I found him so fascinating
With his second hand clothes and dull eyes, 
A little too thin and pale to be particularly attractive
He’s not someone you would give a second glance
Average is the word that comes to mind
Not too good but not too bad either

But no, his looks are not what intrigue me
Didn’t I mention the word peculiar earlier?
Yes, well, he’s certainly a peculiar little fella 
He comes in everyday at precisely nine o clock
And picks out a newspaper from the stand by the door
Then he takes his usual place by the window

This is where his little routine starts to vary
You see, sometimes he would just read his newspaper
But with a concentration that is unwarranted for such a menial task
His eyes moves so slowly and deliberately 
It’s almost seems as if he’s reading for the first time

Other times, he would simply stare out the window
With the newspaper held open in his hands
With the same look of concentration on his face
That was once awarded to the newspaper

Until the waitress comes to take his order
There was a time when she used to cough politely to break his trance
But it would take him at least five minutes to realise her presence
Once she tried to tap his shoulder, and he jumped a mile in the air
Then, almost comically, held his newspaper out as a shield 
But, by now, she has learnt to bang on the table to get his attention
Rude? I suppose a little, but necessary, nonetheless 

He doesn’t look her in the eyes, nor does he speak
He just points out his preferred item in the menu
Mute? Or just terribly shy? I wonder which
He never orders the same thing, always something different
It’s easy to see the irritation written plainly across the waitress’s face
She jots down his order, gives him a fake smile, and asks him if he needs 
anything else
With his head bowed down, addressing the table, it seems, he shakes his 
head

Sometimes his left hand would start shaking uncontrollably
For a minute, he just glares at it intensely
As if trying to make it stop through the power of his eyes alone
And then quickly hides his hand under the table
And looks around to see if anyone noticed; I avert my eyes instantly

A/n: Please also read the second part.


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