pandakatiefominz
Wraith
Near the center of quiet, sleepy town, about an hour from the city, was a small, outwardly unassuming coffee shop. It only opened a year ago, and was fairly popular, or at least as popular as a coffee shop in such a sleepy place could be. Those who worked in the nearby businesses would stop in during the early mornings, after work, or occasionally for lunch, or for a coffee run, and it was a hot spot for teenagers and college students on the weekend or after school hours.
The décor was, in a word, eclectic. The Caffeinated Firefly, so it was called, was owned by two twenty-somethings who prided themselves on supporting local buisness and sustainable living, which meant all of the furniture was purchased from thrift stores, and all of the art was purchased from small-time artists in the city (and, occasionally, a local artist, if they made themselves known) and so there was no cohesive theme. This also added to its popularity. There was nothing like a cute, single-location establishment, run by cute
Then, amongst all the usual patrons, amongst all the buisness people and students and tired mothers and couples out on dates was one old man. One couldn't really describe him as "elderly," despite the fact he used a cane, there was still black in his white hair, of which he had lost none with age, and he still stood straight. He looked as though he would have been quite muscular in his prime, but he was old, now. And, notably, had visited the cafe every day, at the same time, since it opened. He always ordered darjeeling tea, without any milk or sugar, and left twenty dollars as a tip, even though the tea cost less than seven. He always wore a black suit, and of all things, a golden pocket watch. He never spoke to anyone, beyond the usual pleasantries, never sat with anyone, and the only change in his routine was if he sat at his usual table and drew, wrote, or simply stared out the window, towards the quiet street.
That was where he sat, now. He had an open notebook in front of him, and he was holding a pen, but he wasn't writing. It was a "look out the window" day, it would seem, and he hardly stirred when the other patrons strolled in, and all the other tables quickly filled, because the falling snow increased the popularity, which meant although he typically sat distant from the other patrons, the open seats were shortly occupied.
The décor was, in a word, eclectic. The Caffeinated Firefly, so it was called, was owned by two twenty-somethings who prided themselves on supporting local buisness and sustainable living, which meant all of the furniture was purchased from thrift stores, and all of the art was purchased from small-time artists in the city (and, occasionally, a local artist, if they made themselves known) and so there was no cohesive theme. This also added to its popularity. There was nothing like a cute, single-location establishment, run by cute
Then, amongst all the usual patrons, amongst all the buisness people and students and tired mothers and couples out on dates was one old man. One couldn't really describe him as "elderly," despite the fact he used a cane, there was still black in his white hair, of which he had lost none with age, and he still stood straight. He looked as though he would have been quite muscular in his prime, but he was old, now. And, notably, had visited the cafe every day, at the same time, since it opened. He always ordered darjeeling tea, without any milk or sugar, and left twenty dollars as a tip, even though the tea cost less than seven. He always wore a black suit, and of all things, a golden pocket watch. He never spoke to anyone, beyond the usual pleasantries, never sat with anyone, and the only change in his routine was if he sat at his usual table and drew, wrote, or simply stared out the window, towards the quiet street.
That was where he sat, now. He had an open notebook in front of him, and he was holding a pen, but he wasn't writing. It was a "look out the window" day, it would seem, and he hardly stirred when the other patrons strolled in, and all the other tables quickly filled, because the falling snow increased the popularity, which meant although he typically sat distant from the other patrons, the open seats were shortly occupied.