261 Bateman Ln.

"I think he knew," she says eventually. "It just didn't matter enough for him to care."

Once a bustling tiny corner of the world, the coffee shop now is mostly empty, save for a few loyal customers. The first to enter in the mornings, right after the doors open is a small man in a tweed suit. His eyes are bright in the mornings, but always tired. Even when he comes in during his lunch break his eyes are tired and he orders enough coffee to give him an ulcer. He doesn't talk much, but his presence is a warm one and he seems to be good at cleaning things up around the cafe.

The second to arrive is the supply truck, bringing coffee beans, muffins, love, and a good conversation starter. The man who drives the truck has been a constant presence for many years and he always tells his friends to visit. He has a kind face and an even kinder smile. The owner always makes time to speak to him when he stops by, even if it means leaving the small tweed one alone with his thoughts for a little too long.

Not soon after, there's a group of three who love to sit in the back during the down time between breakfast and lunch when no one needs a coffee. They laugh and talk to each other, and always convince the owner to come sit with them. They insist she needs their humor in her life. And often she supposes they're right.

During lunch, the man in tweed returns; his eyes tired although he says he got 8 hours of sleep the night before. His quiet words aren't lost in the bustle of lunch hour, because she's hanging on his every word. He keeps saying he'll be transferred soon, and work in a different area. She's surprised how much that upsets her. She isn't sure if he notices. But she pours him coffee and has him on his way regardless.

The evenings are slower usually, with few customers entering. She watches the sun set through the windows and through the slivers in between buildings. The sky waxes orange, pink, purple, and she's grateful for the opportunity to watch the sun set. She serves a few iced teas and goes home.

She realizes she's excited to see the small man in tweed tomorrow.

Tonight she doesn't watch the sunset. The small man in his tweed didn't come to her shop today. The morning was lonely, lunch tedious, and although she knows he never comes in the evening, she waits for him to walk through the door and make some gesture of affection. She knows it's ridiculous, but still she waits.