Alone in the cafe he looked at his watch. 11:58 p.m. This is not good. He has been sitting here for almost two hours now, and there is no sign of the kid. He stared at the notebook. Blank. Except for the message he has written. Sunday, 9:00 p.m. He should have known better. That was a sixteen year old promising.
He left a hundred pesos on the table, and moved slowly out of the cafe. And in a distant corner of the street, carrying a heavy knapsack, walking fast towards him, as if running out of time, he saw the familiar face, moist… and the blurry lights hit the spark of Joseph’s tears.
note: first attempt to do fiction