She sits at a corner table
wrapped around a cup of tea and
a paperback.

If you pass by her table you inhale her perfume:
equal parts Anais Anais and curiosity.

There is a also a notebook, and
a pencil behind her left ear
You can't see the end, but you can bet it is
sharpened to a point

She looks up only occasionally,
her eyes squinting over her glasses,
assessing her surroundings,
collecting data.

Her improvised aloofness,
though charming,
doesn't work.

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