I pick up my tray of food, glancing around. I'm new and old. I've been but that's gone. I adjust my notebook under my arm, feeling the light weight of the pen that rests behind me ear. It gets heavier by the second, being weighted down with new feelings and thoughts, phrases and words. I scan the room, breathless, thinking about the words my pen could posses when someone taps my shoulder, and my head whips to the side. He gives me a small, crooked grin. I remember you , I think. "Want to sit with me?" Before the word 'no' can roll off my tongue he counters, "It doesn't look like there's any other place to sit, anyway." I look around. All chairs filled, no empty space. I'll have to write that down when he isn't looking. I sigh inwardly, giving in to him. "Sure, I'll sit with you." He leads me to the table in the corner, where the small table for two snugly fits. His pulls his stuff off of it, settin...
Authenticity is attractive.