man at coffee shop

a bearded man sits on a wooden chair,carefully analyzing each bite of a muffin.his features are rough; bearded, salt and pepper hair and a face that reflects the passing of time. he sits with legs crossed, looking out the door as if waiting for someone or something to arrive... only to be bothered by dipping his muffin into coffee every now and then. he chews so silently, patiently, a distant look upon his face. he brushes crumbs off his dirt brown slacks as he takes another sip of his caffeine addiction. one hand crossed, placed on top of the other drawing attention to his opaque noir and white plaid shirt; almost flannel. he taps his finger lightly on his lap; another arm crossing action. his gazes are longer now, each moment becoming more and more about him; his life, his emptyness, the beauty of his undefinable dillema. oh a sudden rush of laughter, almost a cry for attention tucked neatly in between desperation and loneliness. oh how this man fills my heart with unfounded emotions. he's a stranger, i am a stranger. he sits there longingly... waiting for something, someone. am i that someone? his coffee is cold now, cold as his heart has gotten; hopeless yet full of wonder. his smile lingers now, ready to fade at any second. his presence is most palpable now as he glances at the reflections of a glass window. he holds conversations with himself, laughing, joking, mocking his own misery. alas, his saga is an endless one. how long will he sit there, that is an unknown truth.