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There is a man sitting at the table next to me that I can’t seem to stop looking at. Through his sweater I can tell that he has nice arms and a nice chest. He’s scruffy like every other Israeli man with short but thick brown hair. I’m beginning to feel like maybe I’m staring too much. I wish he was sitting at an angle where I would be able to tell from my peripheral vision if he was was looking at me. Don’t look. Focus on your screen. Maybe a quick look. Don’t stare. He’s sitting at a table with another man but they’re not talking. They’re just sitting in silence so I’m not exactly sure what his voice sounds like. Are they waiting for someone? Oh, maybe they are talking and I just can’t hear them.. My computer battery is about to die. I wish Ellen would hurry up and get here so I don’t have to worry about my computer awkwardly dying and then just staring at him or into space while I wait to have a purpose for sitting at this table.

He looks sweet. He doesn’t look like he has the kind of face that walks around thinking he’s the king of the world. But he is attractive and he knows it. A sexy quality. Is he married? I can’t see his left hand. Is there a ring on it? Nice smile too. How old is he? I’d give him 31-33. Say something to him. But, what? He probably doesn’t speak English. Then again, he probably does at least a little… Say something.

In situations like this, I wish I was brave enough to write my number on a piece of paper and just hand it to him with a smile. But if you’re going to do that, you have to do it as you’re leaving. Not when you’re sitting less than 5 feet away for the rest of your time at the cafe. Ellen should be here any minute.

I’m a crazy person. No ring. Not married? He does have a little bit of a beer belly, though. But maybe it’s ok. Ok he’s reaching for his wallet, his coat, his scarf. Now standing up. Window closing. Window closed.