Security

The coffee shop is within an enclosed, glass stadium in the shape of an almond eye. It's Wednesday morning and the place is near-empty, except for a few office workers who order to-go. The coffee shop's security guard also takes his break. He gets his complimentary grande coffee jelly frapuccino in a plastic glass that's faded with drinks and time. A straw stabs the coffee through a swirl of whipped cream. He sits with a gun in his holster. Against the background of newly-erected condominiums in this land that used to be all sea, cigarette smoke exhales through his nostrils. He tears open a packet of chocolate biscuits. He tinkers with touch screen Samsung smart phone. His white ear phones are pressed against his lobes, as if to tie him up in amused concentration. The scene, against the pane of tempered glass that divided us, is an abstract, living painting.

A timer makes a faint alarm. He goes back to opening doors for people, greeting them as they enter, doing his job to keep them all secure.