He sits there,
Pondering his life
Or maybe just deciding who to vote for today
Holding his red holiday-spirited coffee with a firm grip.
Brown boots taping lightly to the beat of the music
playing off in the distant background
Every once in a while he’ll take a sip of his coffee
And glance around the room
At the other thinkers.
Glancing at me too.
4 workers serve the thinkers
Feed their bodies with caffeine
Keeping their bodies fueled.
In front of him,
The pouring rain
Gusts of winds every time someone enters
Then they sit,
What could they all be thinking about?
Are their kids far from home?
Are they thinking about their jobs, or lack thereof?
Maybe they’re just being peaceful…
Why am I so judgmental?