I looked at him once, and with just a deep stare at his eyes I understood who he was and why.

He was dressed in black with traslucid purple little round glasses. He was reading a large Schopenhauer's in a coffee shop. Even though he was three tables away I could smell his ripe cologne with tobacco scent. He had three empty espresso's cups in front of him. He didn't have a friendly face, and wasn't hostile either. His breathing was irregular. He had one sock white and the other black. He liked the music in the place, it was an acid jazz mix. Every time he finished a chapter he closed his book and made deep eye contact with the waitress. The waitress catched him everytime, and felt uncomfortable.

At the deepest peak of peeking, the man pulled off his glasses and stared back. My knowledge was vague by the void of his eyes. I started sweating even though I had cold coffee for a drink. The invisible line between our pupils standed high and dark as the universe continued expanding. For all that was made and taken historically, I found out that the cutest thing we both had in common was a lazy-eyed cat as a pet. The waitress brought him a fourth cup of expresso, and I had to go.