He sat at the booth alone.
Dressed in jeans and a faded greed polo,
he'd pushed the limits of the seams
on more occasions than just this meal.
Readers perched, worn paperback in grip,
he mouthed the words as he gobbled them up.
He never saw the elderly couple entertained
by their story-telling 50 year old son.
Nor the scores on the multiplicity of TVs.
Probably not the 3rd refill on his tea.
I didn't know whether to admire his focus
or feel sorry for him. All I know is that
Story was a powerful influence for him and
he sat at the booth alone.
