I had an hour to do whatever I chose this afternoon while downtown, waiting to meet up with HTB. I was drawn to a bookstore; one of those fancy Barnes & Noble/Starbucks combos. My intent was coffee and perhaps a new book. From the discount section. Or to at least browse.
As I was in the Cafe portion of the store, something caught my eye that made my heart stop for a second or two. A young man sitting at a table by a window, hunched over a laptop. Wearing a dark t-shirt and a black fedora. He was slender, with a distinct chin and nose, or at least my clouded mind made his profile out as such.
I wasn't really seeing whoever this oblivious man in the bookstore was; I was seeing Tim. Of course, the real Tim would have probably been wearing his leather jacket (even on such a warm afternoon as today), and would have more likely been jotting in his ever-ready Moleskin notebook. He may or may not have been sporting his fedora; in the past year or two it had become an on and off-again "thing" he tried out sometimes.
Tim always bought me whatever I wanted at Starbucks, and always bought himself the same $1.95 coffee. We would sometimes talk of the short stories he started and never finished. I left the bookstore today with a Caramel Macchiato (that gave me a stomach ache), a book of Anton Chekov short stories, and a mind swirling with memories.
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