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The woman at my table in a New York City Starbucks

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So I just finished taping Good Morning Football, and now I’m sitting in a midtown Manhattan Starbucks. It’s busy and buzzing and lots of people are coming and going. There are folks rushing to work, folks going to school. Left and right and up and down.

I sat at a table.

Moments later, a woman joined me.

I’m guessing she’s 70ish. She’s wearing a red jacket, black sweat pants and her white athletic socks are tucked into her black sneakers. Her silver hair is encased by red earmuffs, and sunglasses sit atop her head. She is applying makeup to her face, while simultaneously skimming through her flip phone.

Something is off about her.

It’s not obvious, unless you pay attention for a spell. She says nothing. She has a cup of coffee. She’s no more noticeable than a tile on the floor, and yet—here in front of me—she’s very noticeable.

People like this walk in and out of our lives all the time.

They cross our vision. They exit a train as we enter. They exist, then don’t exist.

They sit at your table.

For a moment.

2 replies on “The woman at my table in a New York City Starbucks”

I may have been at that Starbucks last week and saw a 20-something man in bubble gum blue sneakers, yellow pants, and a green tank, mustache like Freddy Mercury and his voice as he talked into his phone sounded like he swallowed sandpaper and a Snicker’s bar at once. The moment lasted a minute. Usually I take photos of people like this. Sadly I did not this time.

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