We Used To Wait

When the line chugged, you noticed things. The emo group, for example, that sulked too obviously to be emo. The supervisor, secretly a prick. An attendant unscrewing a walkie talkie, with great legs, better pantyhose, one short tooth. White, flashing smile. Cute enough.

"Benny, stand straight."

"Ma, come on."

"Benny."

"We're about to order."

"Do I need to repeat myself, young man?"

The young lad in front of them glanced backwards. A pleasant-faced woman with her hair in a simple updo and in a thin cardigan and blouse over a knee-length skirt had out some kind of brochure, flipping through it carelessly. He side-glanced the other way. A teen stood disenchanted by it all, eyes astray. Mother and son. As frilly as always.

Or, in 'Ma's' case, a passable maiden. She may not have been super fit, but she was womanly, had hipbone. And her attire, as casually conservative as it was, seemed deliberately concealing.

The observer's fingers tingled.

"Hi, how may I help you today?"

A stout businessman stepped up to the counter and drawled out his order. The clerk nodded, confirming each item astutely.

"Would that be all?"

Meanwhile, the considerably younger patron behind him was scanning the premises.

Hmm...

Many assembled here in the lobby. Or food court. Whatever you wanted to call it. Many restless people. Thoughtful people. Yippy people, digital people. He was no different. No different from the rest of them.

As the inconspicuous customer blinked, a shimmering twinkle bounced off his eyes.

Not that different, anyway.

He looked around, and decided who the subject of his current whims was to be.