I sit in the arm cafe. It’s walls are plastered with ‘The New Yorker’ magazines and calm jazz is playing softly in the background. 

In the front of the high table where I am sitting there is a large glass window. Hard rain is pounding down outside and cars rush by causing the puddles that have gathered on the street splash. 

The cars come to a stop as a young lady with short stubby brownish blond hair crosses the street. 

Suddenly she drops her jacket on the ground. It’s a leather jacket, one that looks like its been just bought but already worn out. Made to feel cozy and personal. The lady quickly bends down to pick it up and shakes it off as she continues to cross the cold, slippery street. 

And then she does something that I would never do if my jacket was soaked with rain. She laughs to herself and smiles. 

The bells jingle as the door opens as the stubble haired lady walks in and I look at her for a second. As I sit in the cafe with the calming jazz playing in the background and the ‘New Yorker’ on the wall, I wish that I could be more the lady with the leather jacket.