Grey

Perpetual rainfall fell relentlessly from the cold, grey sky. Thick, ominous clouds swathed the mid afternoon sun, casting a gloomy hue over the busy street corner. The man sat at a small, round table opposite a street-side café. An awning stretched over the sidewalk adjacent to the building, protecting the outside tables from being drenched by the rain.
The man sat on a cheap aluminium chair. He had positioned it so that he was side-on to the table. He had one leg resting across the other knee, his arm held dangling over the back of the chair. He appeared calm and relaxed. But a hint of uneasiness showed from behind his apparently composed surface as he impatiently fingered a short wooden number stand with a black number 4 printed on an oval at the top.
The man’s keen eyes had an intelligent sheen to them as he sharply scrutinised his surroundings from behind thin, rectangular eyeglasses shadowed with tidy eyebrows and a thick mop of hair. His hair, despite the fact he was probably in his mid 30’s, was streaked dark-grey. He continued playing with the number stand. Clasping its slender cylindrical shaft between a bony thumb and forefinger he rolled the stand anti-clockwise on its circular base like a spun coin that was losing momentum.
A cold, lean hand rose up to rub the man’s rough, unshaven chin. He looked down at his large backpack that rested against the base of the table. He then extended a long, pale hand into his pocket and slipped out a mobile phone. He pushed a few buttons and watched the screen for a moment before carefully laying it down on the table’s varnished wooden surface.
The man wore plain, faded khaki shorts, a T-shirt with New Zealand inscribed across the chest and a pair of well-worn New Balance running shoes. He soon began to fidget as if he were nervous or apprehensive about something concealed to the crowd around him.
A waitress wearing a black apron approached the man’s table. She set a gleaming white cup and saucer down in front of the greying man. She smiled at the man. He stared coldly back. She then hastily retreated to the shop to take the next order. The man abandoned toying with the number stand and lifted the cup from its saucer, sipping greedily at the bitter-smooth coffee.
He watched the tables around him. He saw husbands and wives and laughing children with wizened grandparents. The man saw families. He sat alone. He planted both feet on the ground and leant forward on the table, cradling his head in his hand while gulping at his coffee.
The grey-haired man looked out at the passing vehicles on the street spraying plumes of water up from roadside puddles, making a distinct whoosh-splash sound. The rain beat down increasingly hard on the awning above causing a thick waterfall to cascade over the edge. The busy street-goers had to duck quickly underneath to avoid being saturated. The man sipped his coffee.
Draining the last of his coffee, the man lightly placed the empty cup back onto its saucer. He checked his phone and bent down, pretending to adjust the straps on his bulky backpack before checking the phone again. He tapped his foot anxiously. His eyes darted swiftly over his environment, coolly contemplating and calculating some hidden problem. He leant down and scratched an imaginary itch on his lower leg. He shifted his position and twitched impatiently in his seat as if he was unable to get comfortable.
The man checked his phone. After a second’s pause he stretched his long arms above his head, palms facing out with interlocked fingers and forced a yawn. He hauled his lanky figure upright and checked his phone once more before sliding it into his short’s pocket. He grabbed his backpack and, handling it with care, hoisted it onto his back, rolling his shoulders to get comfortable. The grey-haired man glanced from side to side before striding out from the awning and into the busy, wet street. In the blink of an eye he was gone.