3 o’clock

3 o'clock
empty cafe
just me staring at a guy
staring into space

his thoughts crackle
into the summer air
nervous
hopeless
jobless
debts mounting
coffee going cold
no cash for a bun

while pastries shine
behind the glass
beckoning

I think of Jean Valjean
and his stolen loaf

and hope floats in
on a stray sunbeam

maybe just maybe
this man will meet
his Bishop

~~~

(written for the Bentlily prompt - go to a cafe and write about a person there)