imagination at play

sitting in a coffee shop is so inspiring to me. Here is a sketch I wrote last time:

Scuffling over to the chair, both tennis shoes untied and the arms of a mega-sized sweatshirt dragging on the floor, he plops down. Hidden fists smoosh freckle-splattered cheeks to the rim of his glasses. Still crusty with sleep, his squinty eyes stare out the window. Sandy brown curls droop over his forehead and the shock partially covers his ears. The sun's rays shine, beginning to warm the earth--and his shoulders. A smile slickers across the boyish face. White flakes fall outside and his young frame shivers. He slips his head into the engulfing hood and pulls his knees to his chest and glances towards the long line. He waits. Two steamy cups are placed on the table. It is a good morning after all.