He sits, staring at his drink or maybe beyond it,
eyes fixed on something, someone, sometime,
undisturbed by the bustle and chatter around his table,
by himself in a crowded pub at lunchtime.
He sits ramrod-straight, face shielded by a cap's peak,
preferring to be lonely in this busy watering hole
rather than alone in the solitude of his bedsit,
choosing noise he can ignore over silence that eats at his soul.
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