Sitting at my usual seat, having the same waitress place my coffee on my table, I was at my happy place. With my camera in my hand and all the free subjects for me to snap, I am at my happy place. People watching and taking photos of random occurences was enjoyable. At Café Le Beau, I am safe.

‘I wanted love, trust and respect, yet you gave me lust, greed and belittlement. You, oh grand sir, are just a boy dressed in the finest of clothes thanks to society’s misinterpretation of your maturity with your age!’ she yells. Her anger reaching the peak and that was the start of a wonderful explosion. With no signs of simmering down, she grabbed the nearest glass. A firm grip and an outward push, the water once contained in a cup splashed across his chest. The mere outburst had such cinematic feel, I could not help but snap a photo of her after that dramatic outburst.

She storms out the café. The little man now an embarrassed boy. He sits there and collected whatever spilled pride he left. He raise his hand calmly, calling over one pair of the many eyes that were glued but now avoiding his scene. The petite waitress cautiously walks over with the bill. Gently placing it upon the table, her eyes gaze at him with sympathy. He places the bills, murmured something to her before taking his leave.

Oh what a scene.

When the door had shut after his exit, it felt as if the curtains where drawn and the show had concluded. I heaved a sigh at the end of my entertainment. Focusing back onto my coffee, I decided to preview the shot I took of her. Funny. Instead of a tuimphent smirk, the lady had tears streaming down her face. My forefinger pauses on the screen, pointing at the vivid anguish in her eyes.

I tapped at her frozen eyeball of pain. Why? I questioned. Why is there sadness?

Curious, I picked up my bag, quickly paid for my coffee and headed out. Scanning my surrounding, I went with my gut feelings and turned left. Something in my mind was nagging at me to find this lady. I needed to know why she was sad. It doesn’t make sense. Why would you feel sad for someone who had done you wrong?

Logically, she should be happy, or at least a smirk of victory. After all, the water that she had splashed was no different from the kitchen knife that I had pushed through his chest. I demand an answer for this enquiry that she has placed in my head.