Alessandre flumped into the frigid cafe seat and set his mug down with a clunk. He scratched his chin- or did it scratch him? It was hard to tell sometimes. the remains of a chemical ridden cleaning spray tickled his nostrils with a faint hygenic and sour smell. The latest mass manufactured pop songs played on a tinny radio which sounded marginally better than the clatter and clank of cutlery and mugs and a rattly coffee machine.

Looking out the window, Alessandre watched people hurry by. It was far too early for anyone other than businessmen and other early workers to be parading the street. Their status and wealth was symbolised by an expensive silk tie or a glittering watch.

Through the black and grey suits, Alessandre briefly spotted something odd. Sipping his watery coffee, he gazed, attention now fixed on the middle of the street; on a row of metal benches. His green eyes searched along until they met a figure. A girl a couple of years his junior sat and pulled a scarf tighter around herself, lest the cold morning gloom creep beneath her clothes.

Alessandre leaned forward, transfixed. He enjoyed watching people, but this girl was something else. Her dark curls and flawless skin were perfect and no amount of make up could match her pure beauty. A nebula radiating out into the encroaching blanket of human space.

He wanted to hear her, to touch her, but with his tousled, greasy hair and an emery board face, he was far below her. Feeling inadequate, Alessandre sighed. He wanted her and wanted to learn everything about her. Her idiosyncrasies, her dreams. Yet he had never met her.

The chill caught him, beckoning him out, as someone battled the wind out. Should he approach her? How would she react? Alessandre had never had any luck wth people, partly due to the fact that he was not particularly handsome or intelligent and never seemed to look clean. Added to this was the fact that he rather enjoyed watching people, which can come off a little creepy at times. He thought too hard, and civilisation thought him quiet and antisocial. If this girl was like the others, she would walk away. She would look at him like he had done something inexcusable, simply by being near her.

No, he thought. She must be different. There’s something amazing about her, and she might not even be disgusted by him.

Doubt struck again. She deserved someone better. Alessandre couldn’t give her anything. He didn’t even have a job. Shaking his head, he realised he was thinking too deeply into the situation. All he had to do was talk to her and that would be enough.

He wrenched his bottom from the seat. He never let himself live, only exist. Take the chance.

Gathering up his belongings, he made his way to the counter to pay, watching the bench the whole time. He turned to the door, and the girl stood up. Desperately, he ran out, forcing the wind’s hands away. He shrugged his bag onto his shoulder and made for the bench. A long coat flicked in the air, shoes clicked on the cobbled street, and she was gone.