She comes in every day.
She sits at the same table in the cafe.
I wonder what her story is.
She has all her belongings with her.
She is homeless, I surmised.
I watch her closely. Not because she’s suspicious, but because she is here every day.
I’m curious about her story, but know its rude to ask.
After a while, I see her approaching my desk.
She looks around, mumbling to herself before asking, “Do you have today’s paper?”
“Yes, there are all here”, I say as I point to the papers.
She takes them all and walk back to the cafe.
She never reads them, but I can see her talking to herself.
She gets up and walk back and forth a few times, all while talking herself, before finally returning the papers.
She does this again the next day.
And the days after.
How did she get to this point, I wondered.
Homeless, on her own, and possibly suffering from mental illness.
Possibilities run through my head but I’ll never know.
At the end of the night as the barista brings her left overs from the cafe, I can’t help but wonder what her story is.
Writing 101 Day 10: Let the scene write itself