Café.

(Subject 1) There was something immediately displeasing about the beady eyed man perched in front of me. His sharp features peered at me over his crushed morning newspaper. His eyes were an eerie shade of brown, unusually dark and fixated on surveying his surroundings like an animal mesmerised by its prey. He wore a suit and clutched between his long boney fingers, a tattered brown briefcase. I noted that his thin frail hands were pale in complexion, such as his face which looked as if all the blood had been drained from it. He clutched a cup of black coffee, gazing into it every so often, as of searching for some sort of answer. To see this man was to feel immediate pity, perhaps even a compassion for his sorry weathered state.

(Subject 2) It was impossible not to notice the round, booming man who had just thundered through the once peaceful café. Smartly dressed and exuding self-importance, he strode up to the counter and bellowed the word ‘espresso’ at the waitress. One heavy footstep after another, he stomped his way over to a table (rather out of proportion to his size I might add) where he sat, bundled into a corner aiming to retain some discretion I suppose. The scene was one of much amusement, such a large man resting his bulk on a rather un-sturdy looking wooden chair. His espresso arrived, a delicate china cup placed on a tiny round table. Eyes watched as the giant loomed over it, scowling.

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