BrooklynHe had been sitting by himself in a cafe, Brooklyn, named for the aging owners daughter. There wasn’t more than three tables in the place, and there wasn’t more than three bar stools at the windowed counter facing the street. Cafe Brooklyn had developed a very solid reputation as one of the vest cafes in the city, regardless of its space.The owner, a bespectacled hipster in his late fifties had said that simplicity was the driving force behind the design of his business. There was beauty in simplicity, there was something relaxing in simplicity. Most importantly, the shop owner did not want large and complicated menus to get in the way of good coffee and he did not want pretention to get in the way way of a community of regulars. An odd sentiment in a space that wasn’t much more three white washed brick walls, a coffee bar, a few photos and a giant window facing into what was usually a busy street.In the summer, a few tables would decorate the entrance to Brooklyn,
If You Only KnewHair done up in an electric pony tailStyled by stress and hard knocks.She sits.Small.Timid.Afraid.Lost among giants.Eyes wide, caught in the headlights of life.She shivers cold on a warm morning in the sweater meant to hide her bruises.She can't hide the ones on her legs though.Eyes flickering this way and that.Wondering.Worried.What must people think of her?She shrinks in her seat. I can see herGrowing Small.Bloody feet.Fancy shoesCaked in dirt.Torn cardigan.Frayed skirt.If only you knew.You are loved.There is one who loved you enough to take your place.If you only knew.I want to reach out and say something.But I can't.This is my stop and I have to go.