He charged through the busy avenue like a lost stray cat, and found me typing away on a laptop. Playfully he looked at me, inquiring silently what I'm doing inside a cafe deplete of customers. I answered with a stare older people would usually do to more inquisitive, curious kids. He looked like he spent most of his time in the street, unmindful of the wheeled contraptions that can easily squish his body with a careless swerve. I didn't mind his presence at first, but the intrusion of my private time caused my hands to cover my lips, imitate Auguste Rodin's "The Thinker" and accept the challenge of my younger rival.
His first move was sticking out his tongue - see if I respond with something more crazy. I have resolved to stay still - not move an inch, just stare. He opened his mouth, shaped it into an "O", then crossed his eyes. I conditioned myself to be like part of the furniture. He placed his hands over his eyebrows as if peeking through the pane, probably wondering how to move a stone without touching it. Swiftly he hid himself behind the cemented division of the wall, then quickly jumped out the window as if to surprise me. I almost lost my constitution, but remained firm.
A lady who wore a bob hair appeared beside him, and scolded him about nobody watching over the rice cakes she was selling beside the light post near the hospital. He followed her, jumping like a farm goat over the pavement. Our match has finally concluded. He might be disappointed that his conquest to get a certain reaction from me will be left unfinished.
But I lost. He didn't see my finger twitch.
