The Indian man sat casually sipping coffee and making notes in his journal, jotting down whatever was of interest to him in the book he held close. His shoes lay next to his feet, perfectly white socks breathing in the air of the coffee shop save where a stray Band-Aid stuck to the underneath on the ball next to his pinkie toe. Grey slacks, white polo, revealing a sleeveless tank tee beneath it next to his dark complexion.

Gray and white hair surrounded his rear facing bald spot, thoroughly earned, and the gold-frame reading glasses completed the picture of a man prone to smiles in a life that was hard, but happy; proud yet kind. His granddaughter sat across from him, on her apple laptop, with a silver heart sticker to the left of the glowing logo centered on the rear screen and a similar π sticker to the right. Her traditional full length skirt gave way to decorative yet simple sandals and toes painted baby blue. Her black cool top on a warm day, covering yet sensuous, accented by the silver cuff bangle on her left wrist and forearm. She wants to go to an Ivy League school, and I have no doubt she will get there.

I think to myself only that I want a moment in time, where I can sit, in silent study with my children or grandchildren, grown and driven, to one day share this serene adventure of appreciation.

He drops his phone, socks working to catch it beneath him.  She leans next to the wall and picks it up for him. They both smile and share a little laugh.

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