He comes there for a reason. Though it seems he is there without a reason. At first glance that be the judgement. But frequent sighting of him, changes opinion.

She had seen him there, often, at lunch hour, alone, with his beer glass in front of him, looking around, with no look of waiting, or waiting for someone. He would look at the crowd, and would take his own time at it. He was not good looking, neither that bad looking, may be in his early fourties. She was not sure, and was not bothered of assurance.

Frustration was a new feeling. Sexual frustration, , something she never thought she would feel. But endured immensely, at most times, of late. Abstinence much adored was draining her, and while all this happened, “He who mattered”, seems not to notice, what it be the obvious.

Yet the predator did see it, sense it and cherish it.

Was it the look in her eyes? That empty stare while listening to the conversation, or the head that leaned on His shoulder, and the inept way He reacted to her gesture? Was it just the non interest or the indifference she possessed for the two souls that were her companions? Or was it the female hand she toyed with while He seemed to be making an effort at caressing her skin with a forced effort? Or was it all this that sent signals of “damsel in dismal” a “possible prey alert” for him?

Change of chairs. Simple trick. He was right in front of her face, and she needed no effort on her part to catch his eyes.

And he stares. And waits. And awaits her signal.

“Creep alert!”. Red lights on, flashes in her mind. Reaction needed. Urgent!

For once, she knew the cause of his presence. Every day, same time, same beer, same expression, same claws awaiting their prey.
Frustration yes, desperation, yet NOT.

Pulling back of chair. Holding of hands. She was out of his sight, and out of Barefoot.