The Pleasure of People Watching

She sits alone in the corner of the coffee shop; her den. A fine woman at first glance, but the sharpness of her eyes suggest something more: A lioness draped in the disguise of this being. The coffee in her cup is cold, but she does not drink-- she watches.

A man sits alone, his thick fingers rapping tirelessly against the weathered table that has sat hundreds before him. He glances nervously at the door, waiting for a woman who may never arrive. She notes the twitch in his jaw, the uncomfortable shift in his seat. Prey unsteady on its feet.

In runs a child, bundled in a knitted hat and gloves, a sign of his mother’s messy love. Yet, he is alone. He looks for his mother, this must be the case, for what else does one so helpless, so young, have to chase? He does not notice the pair of eyes that follow his ever timid move: a rabbit in the open, ears high and ready to flee. Then, he turns. His scarf follows behind him in the air as he escapes the predator’s den just as fast as he had entered.

Like the others, he has left without knowledge of the huntress in the corner indulging in the thrill of the chase, but resisting the pounce. She collects her things and up she stands, believing herself to be the unseen observer. But beyond her gaze, a quiet pair of eyes linger. Not even she could have known that she, too, had been watched, caught in the unsettling moment where the predator has unknowingly become the prey.