he works behind the coffee counter in the evenings when things are slow, when people are no longer thinking of caffeine but rather of wine and touching and winding downwards and dark corners and hushed candlelit hope.
he watches me walk in a few times a week.
today he spoke to me for the first time:
“you seem like a person who is full of fire.”
“is fire a good thing?”
“of course, how could it not be? it creates warmth that spreads like wildfire.”
he stood there, as did i, blinking with thought.