We must all be voyeurs at heart but, surveying the waiting area, I see no one else people watching like me.
A middle aged woman scurries past carrying the group coffee haul.
A family of five desperately attempts to redirect the youngest before the situation descends to tears.
Then his eyes.
They meet mine across the noisy space. Maybe there’s a smirk dancing over his lips; caught in the act as we are.
Like tunnel vision, I see nothing else.
Someone pauses before me, an imprint on the outskirts of my mind.
I peer around the figure but he’s gone.
Word Count: 100
For Friday Fictioneers (on a Thursday!). Click the link for the rules and more flash fiction pieces.