Creative Non-Fiction Short Stories. :) Travel, Oldsters, Love, and Compassion.
I watched the boy watching the girl. He is cute, but with a very young face. He’s outfitted with the narrow black jeans and black hooded jacket of most guys his age. The girl works at the bakery and uses silver tongs to endlessly move croissants, cakes, and muffins from one end of the case to the other.
I find it charming how he waits for speak to her. How he orders bread quickly, how he can barely look at her while she counts out his change. He sits for a minute at a small table, smiling and choosing various postures where he can rest his restless hands. The girl looks a bit old for him, but age is hard for me to judge her since nearly all the women here wear either no makeup of far, far too much.
He sees me writing about him, about her–and kindly, suspiciously looks in my direction. I’m only here as a part of his self-consciousness, not as a part of his evening. I give him a nod of support, hoping he’ll say something to the girl so I can continue the story, but it comes to a close as he hurries shyly to the street, shyly away from a his baking angel and the scrawling spectator.