The Average Boy with the Pouty Lips

I can’t stop staring at this guy adjacent from me. He looks like he has kept the same haircut since he was a young boy. Short and typical, nothing out of the ordinary, trimmed on the sides and a little longer on top. I wonder if he wakes up looking like that or he showers every morning to blow and dry and mold it into average hair perfection. If we passed each other on the street I wouldn’t have looked at him twice, but I’m still a little drunk from yesterday and with it my weary eyes have found comfort in his pouty lips and round face.

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We have made eye contact twice now. I can’t tell if I’m being obvious, I can’t tell if he’s looking at me when I’m not looking at him. I like to imagine that he is. I have become very aware of my breasts, rising and falling inside of my shirt, brushing against the inside of my arm. If I were him I’d be staring at my breasts, and glancing at my face wondering what a beaten up looking young woman was doing sitting in Sasazuka in the middle of the afternoon drinking coffee and writing in her notebook. Then I’d look at my breasts again.


He’s rustling through some papers on the table, I can’t tell what they are. Everyone once and a while he stops to read something, write something down, then back to rustling, folding. He carefully folds one sheet and places it in a long blue envelope. He asks the waiter if smoking is allowed, it is. The waiter brings him an ash tray, his hair is long and wavy, just below his shoulders. He has nice socks in nice shoes, his pants look expensive, he probably rides a fixed gear bike. The customer lights a cigarette, I can’t see what brand it is from where I am sitting. I hear him breath a heavy sigh as he inhales the first hit, the smoke drifts to me and I inhale it too. I want a cigarette.


He finishes the water in his glass, leaving behind the melting chunk of ice. He puts on his jacket, it’s beige and warm looking, there’s fur on the hood. It could be from Uniqlo or APC, it’s hard to tell. He pays the 450 yen charge for his one cup of coffee and gathers his things. I feel sad. Oh please don’t go, I haven’t memorized your face yet.

I pay my 450 yen for my one cup of coffee, gather my things, and head home.

sasha owen longfellow sasazukaboy4

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