It was evident from the very moment that the engine turned off: uncertainty, present and most powerful.
Silence.
The evening cool in the tropical islands.
A jacket now being unbuttoned.
He stepped off and away from the motorcycle now resting on its foundational kickstand. His hand reached forward diffidently and clasped the approaching soul’s offered hand in a shared moment of human interface.
Eye contact, terrific.
A shy introduction, not to bad.
A gust blew at the two and both shared a smile of similarities in body temperature issues.
He struggled for words. Most came in gauche, almost teenage-like fashion. The long walk to the coffee shop’s menu board took weeks and he recoiled inside pondering the possibilities of this other soul viewing the back of his head, arms, or born-with-flat-ass bottom.
A table.
A cup.
A checkerboard.
A girl with a laptop and a text book.
A Billie Holiday B-side track whispering in the backdrop.
The conversation was humorous and coarse, colorful and grey, livid and brilliant.
Complements were exchanged and smiled were traded.
Thoughts trailed off. People melted past. Windows transitioned to darkness.
An empty cup.
An open mind.
An empty plate.
An open road.
Another iteration perhaps?
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