Black on black

He sits chatting idly as he butters his toast at a table for four, but he is alone. 

His black coat is scrunched at the elbows, but he does not remove it.  Black leather loafers with the tassels look new,  and he jostles and bounces one crossed leg incessantly. He must be hot, one leg of his black jeans is pushed up to the knee, a black dress sock slouches toward his ankles. The other pant leg is pulled down correctly – but only in the front. It is climbing crookedly in the back. His leather kangol hat is lopsided, revealing curly grey and black hair just waiting for a trim.  Scruffy face shows the beginnings of a silver  beard on his dark skinned face. Crumbs gather in groups on his moustache.  
He talks steadily a slight island accent evident, as though waiting for a reply that will not come. Two ice teas and two small cups of juice are spread out in front of him. He pauses in his one sided intangible conversation, sips coffee from a smoking cup, and looks toward the empty chair in front of him.  Scratching his chin with slender fingered hand, he smiles at the waitress walking by and catches her attention with, “Hola” before reverting to English to request creamers.  

Then, he resumes his solo conversation, tugging at his crawling sock and forcing it to meet his knee.

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