The light from his laptop screen lights up his clear blue eyes, which flicker backwards and forwards as he reads; he leans poised over the keyboard like a preying mantis. She smiles because she thinks his features would suggest he's nothing like a little green insect! He's of medium build, young (is she always watching younger men?), has long, rough-cut hair and a slightly reddish short beard, which she thinks he wears like a badge or school scarf: he belongs to something, a culture she knows nothing about. It goes with the loose t-shirt and shorts that he wears on such a cold, early autumn morning. He knows she's watching him and occasionally their eyes meet, both of them looking quickly away. He leans back in his chair, sighing, stretching his left arm straight above his head, which he tilts back with closed eyes. What's he working on... He's on the phone now, smiling, and his face changes so completely. His voice is soft, not deep, and all she hears are snatched words under the music and clatter of crockery. He closes the laptop as he speaks, and the light goes from his eyes.