A mug cupped in hands--chai.
Nostrils flare. Steam wisps. Lips pucker as a stream
of air ripples the teasurface tension.
Eyes capture people waiting, participating in their sociology.
Waited on are those seated, nose pointed at their conversation.
If not with another in presence, nosing alone at an interface
or stuck in some form of printed matter.
Hands warmed. Thoughts to do, lingering with each sip
on the tongue. The ear drums. The swallow is out of rhythm--the
groovy tunes, mood-mixing.
"A bag of beans," overheard.
What else, trying to remember.
Dabs the dribble of mull before back into the cold, ready
to take strides less leisurely to complete the duty.