He leaned on the
balcony's iron rail,
coffee steam curling past
his chin. The street
lamps blinked off, one
by one, like slow
exhales.
A bakery down the block
sent up a ghost of warm
bread. He could hear the
baker's radio, tinny and
soft. The city was still
half-asleep, but he
wasn't.
His phone buzzed on the
small table. He glanced
at it, then left it
face-down.
The horizon widened from
gray to white. He closed
his eyes, let the breeze
find his face. No rush.
No one waiting.
Morning didn't need him to be anywhere else.