the one in the coffee shop

I see you from inside, walking toward me, checking your reflection in the coffee shop windows. Normally I dismiss men like you, but you have dreadlocks, so I let it slide this time. You order a green tea and I wonder why you pay three dollars for something you could have made at home for nearly free. Your corduroy pants brush together, like the sound of a steam engine on tracks. I never catch your eye. I don't really try.