More coffee

It's been one of those days today where the artist in me just wants to flounce about drinking strong coffee. So that's what I did; drawn to Costa's like a magnet, so I could just sit there and people watch...under the guise of writing something terribly interesting of course:


He was an intriguing character, Faginesque in his appearance: thin, lank and dirty and over wrapped for the warmth of the day. His profile showed a long nose and his mouth appeared to cave in above his jutting chin, as though he had no teeth. His adam's apple almost protruded as far as his stubbly chin. She was fascinated by his features and intrigued by his mannerisms, compelled to draw him so she didn't forget. Her black ink-pen flowed freely as she drew his long greasy hair, which seemed to stick to his head and cheeks in thin strips, revealing areas of his pale scalp. His lips were thin and he often mumbled to himself, raising his eyebrows and jerking his head at the apparent responses he was getting to his murmurings. He took out a yellowing, dog-eared paperback with more loose pages than glued and his small, gentle hands, stained with nicotine, seemed to tenderly touch each word as he read. She openly drew him and he seemed completely unaware he was being watched as he slowly sipped at his coffee, hardly noticing he was drinking it. Her eyes flickered from subject to paper for a few minutes until her pen ran out and she had to rummage around in her bag to find another one. When she looked up to finish, she discovered he'd gone as quietly as he'd arrived.