Some Questions

He was always pushing open the recently unlocked door of the coffee shop on the corner of the square minutes after the early morning shift opened for business. As the first customer, he had the pick of seating, always choosing the table in the front corner where he could watch passers by on foot, bicycle or motorized vehicle as well as those coming through the door of Porter's Brew. He brought the Daily News to read, ordered an Americana and settled into his spot quite comfortably almost every day of the week save the weekend. He was as much a part of the decor as the old mismatched tables and chairs, second hand bookcases, green checked cafe curtains and coat racks. The employees came and went, but Oscar remained. They tried to engage him in conversation but with little success. No one knew his story as he was reluctant to speak more than a polite please or thank you after his nod of the head to say good morning. No one ever joined him, and two hours later to the minute Oscar tidied his table, threw his paper in the bin, grabbed his hat and coat from the rack by the front door and scooted out as unobtrusively as he had come. Who is he? Where does he live? What does he do when he leaves the coffee shop? Does he have a family, friends, an occupation? Does he really want to be left alone or does he long for someone to know him? Is he afraid of what they will find if he lets them in? What are the pieces of his life that make him who he is today? Does anyone care? Who are these people in our corner of the world? Do we care? Do I? Do you?