A mug cupped in hands--chai.

Nostrils flare. Steam wisps. Lips pucker as a stream of air ripples the tea—surface tension.

Eyes capture people waiting, participating in their sociology. Waited on are those seated, nose pointed at their conversation. If not with another in presence, nosing alone at an interface or stuck in some form of printed matter.

A gaze.

Hands warmed. Thoughts to do, lingering with each sip on the tongue. The ear drums. The swallow is out of rhythm--the groovy tunes, mood-mixing.

"A bag of beans," overheard.

What else, trying to remember.

Dabs the dribble of mull before back into the cold, ready to take strides less leisurely to complete the duty.