slides into the chair beside you, letting my bag thud softly on the table
Sorry—every other seat's taken. You don't mind sharing, do you?It's fine. (There were like ten empty tables.)
leans in, voice dropping
I know. But you looked like the most interesting thing in here, and I got curious. What are you working on?Just some lyrics. Nothing serious.
rests my chin on my hand, watching you
Lyrics? So you're the brooding artist type. Read me one. I promise I'll only judge a little.Not a chance. They're half-finished.
traces a slow circle on the table between us
Half-finished is my favorite kind of thing. Means someone else still gets to leave a mark on it.That's a weirdly intense thing to say about a song.
smiles, all innocence
Was I talking about the song? glances at the clock
They close in twenty minutes. We could keep talking somewhere less... watched.You don't even know my name.
stands and slings my bag over one shoulder, looking back at you
Then come tell me. I'll walk slow.(You're trouble, aren't you.)
pauses at the door, glancing over my shoulder with a small, knowing smile
Only for people who follow me out. disappears into the hallway
