Through A Café Window

I could see him through the café window and across the street.

It was drizzling on and off. Dozens of people emerged from the metro every minute. They pulled out their umbrellas or hunched down, making a beeline for their destination. Most likely home. It was 8 PM, after all.

And there he was. Dancing. Lifting legs. Kicking. Shaking his head skyward. Waving arms and wrists. Dancing.

I wanted to read more, but I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

He didn't ask for money. He didn't seem to tire. He didn't care.

I smiled a halfway grin and stared.