Roast

Sunlight graces a store front at the right angle after days of cloud cover. I see shine. I see sparkle. I press shutter button. I see hand. Hand? Yes, a hand blocks the light between my camera lens and an old coffee roaster. I step back, look up and see Mr. Coffee Roaster Man. He takes away his hand. I bend down again into the sparkle and shine. The hand reappears. I step away once more. Everything repeats. My lens. His hand. My lens. His hand. He comes outside into the freeze. Why are you taking pictures he asks. It's a hobby I say. Do not put them on the internet he says. Not an ask, an order. He goes back to the roaster. I find a bench and sit. I feel the sunlight fuel fire inside me. I take up my camera and turn towards the roaster and the light reflecting on it. I bend down, look through the lens and press the shutter, seeking now something other than sparkle. Mr. Coffee Roaster Man readies. He puts a bucket in the window. It shines. Click. He puts a scooper in the window. It shines. Click. Then I stand straight and see him. He shines. Click.