He asked me the time. He had two mobile phones and he asked me the time.
I told him, thinking it was completely strange. He’d had conversations on both phones almost continuously since he’d entered Starbucks, dropping one call to take another or asking the person to hold. He was jumpy, nervous, and he asked me the time.
I know we all do this from time to time but I made up a story about him. He was the getaway driver for a bank robbery that was taking place at the time. I’ve always had a vivid imagination. He was getting updates from different lookouts planted around town. He asked me the time because I was to be an alibi for him. He was slightly built with a leather jacket that probably fitted him 25 years ago when it was trendy. He wore straight leg jeans a few inches too short and a belt that was on the last hole. I couldn’t tell if it was a disguise or just really bad taste.
He left the coffee shop and sat in his car talking on one of the phones, the door open and his leg hanging out into the empty parking space beside him. He waited there for at least 20 minutes. I began to write this (totally imaginary) description of him and he must have left at some point. There were no bank robberies reported on the news that day.
