Adam Eveson

Waiting

He sat in the small café, looking out of the rain covered window at the cold, grey, miserable morning. His mug of tea sat growing cold in front of him. A scattering of crumbs were all that was left of his toast. He could have easily had tea and toast at home, but this café was an escape from the loneliness that his house imprisoned him in. He watched an old lady trying to cross the street. She trod into a big puddle after being overwhelmed by the noise of the heavy traffic. He thought of her as an old lady, but she was probably not far off his own age. It was funny how he still thought of himself as a much younger man. Only his failing body was a constant reminder of the cruel reality behind his false self-image. Old age had crept up on him while he was too busy doing other stuff to notice, and had robbed him of his health and vitality. As he watched a young lady help the elderly lady to cross safely, a song came on the little radio that sat at the end of the café counter. It brought to an end, the monotonous torture of some political debate between the DJ and an arrogant local councillor, of whom he had never heard.