STRANDED

I peered out of the wet glass. The street is bustling with shoppers, students, office execs... eager to go home.
The waitress cleared my table,
soon a sense of melancholy slipped in...

I phone my wife, “I'm in a café, stranded, and I don’t have an umbrella. Oh how do I get home?
Should I leave now, brave the rain, or wait it out a bit?”

She said she’ll bring me an umbrella so we can go home together, and wanted me to just wait.

The rain has subsided…
Peering out of the wet glass, I squint hard to see the far away street.
left, right—all seemed okay, I have better get up and leave.

"Sir,” the waitress asked softly, “I heard you saying someone will be here to go home with you?”

caught off guard, I stuttered, "No… my wife is at another place. She's stranded there. The rain..."

She didn't know. I pretended to use the phone—my mind wandered and my heart was longing.

Thank you for visiting

STRANDED

Narrative of a lonely old man