“I think something’s wrong with him”, she whispers to a friend, watching the man who was sitting by himself, his hand gesticulating. His hair is wild, his beard unkempt, his glasses slightly askew on his face.

“Maybe he’s mad”, her friend says conspiratorially.

I sit back, drinking my coffee, watching the elderly man with his Bluetooth earplug in as he seemingly talks to himself. They can’t see it. I can.

They’re dressed fancily. Maybe fashionably, I don’t know much about such things, but neither one of them seems really attractive.

Maybe it’s their appearance, maybe it’s their behavior. I can’t tell the difference these days as to why someone is unattractive or attractive. I don’t know that it matters anymore, and I don’t know that it ever did.

He’s shaking his hand in the air now, his voice becoming slightly louder yet indiscernible over the noise in the mall. His other hand puts down his donut, a few stray colorful sprinkles left in his beard. He twists and looks at them.

“Oh my god!”, one of them exclaims quietly.

“I’m on the damned phone!”, he says loudly while staring at them.

I break into laughter, coming dangerously close to having my mocha rise into my nasal cavity.

They fall silent, properly corrected by Donut Man who, incidentally, managed to shake those sprinkles free of his beard when he made his exclamation.