The nameless back in the corner shifted, revealing a face. Through her peripheral, she knew him to be a young man—-slightly older—-with deadly eyes behind glasses. A blurry sight did this peripheral hold. A book she carried with her; Keats. With her eyes set to read, she chose to ignore this stranger, but the words didn't make sense to her and she had to reread each page twice. They mixed and mingled with her thoughts and she felt as if she were reading their story instead. She reared back in disgust. His eyes were on her. she turned her mind to the tan walls and the four two-chaired tables. Fluent paintings. A stage.