Coffee Shop

There's a man outside the window, counting out the change he begged from strangers to buy himself a cup of coffee. He is only a glasspane's width away from the two college kids suited with guitars, keyboards, drums, mics and Gucci glasses. Never has a translucent, breakable barrier divided so much. The boys play well, so I throw my spare change into the donation jar. But outside, it begins to rain and the man wheels his bicycle under the eave so that it, and the entirety of his possessions strapped haphazardly about it, doesn't get wet. I sip my coffee and turn to the band as he lights up a cigarrette in the rain.