Breakfast

He waited for the morning breeze to tease the tattered curtain. Seated on the table right next to the door, he thought "The curtain must sway". His morning rite would remain unfinished, just like the glass in his hand if the bloody curtain did not sway. He looked down at the glass in his hand. It was his third one since the morning. A black blob of something sat on the rim of the dull cut-glass tumbler. He was momentarily disgusted. Luckily, the TV, perched high on a wall somewhere behind him cut into his thoughts. It crooned a soppy Bollywood number, "Tum dil ki dhadkan mein..." His spirited glass and he softly swayed. "How apt!" he thought tapping his fingers to the tune. Of course, he forgot the unwelcome black blobby resident on the rim. He took another sip and began to meditate on the doorway again. He put down his glass as his eye caught a glimpse of the blue umbrella bobbing up and down. It came to a halt at some distance from the doorway. He gazed out, thankful that the curtain was finally swaying.

She looked a little tousled today but that seemed to add to her charm, he thought.Her eyes lingered on something overhead.She stared at it curiously. Or was it a look of amusement? He couldn't tell. He washed down his third glass for the morning, happy that his morning rite was complete. He waited a while before he darted out, past the faded curtain, into the gray morning, smiling.