remote cards

The girl at the information desk has bobbed brown hair and is petite. The guy in front of the desk loiters, scruffy hair and unshaven, increasingly looking like he is probably her boyfriend waiting for her shift to end. She stares into his eyes, leaning against the desk with her elbows. Something in the conversation makes her stand up straight, no longer leaning, she pumps her arms in the air, waves them from side to side as though dancing. Then, full of delight, she runs her hands through her hair, as though ravishing herself gleefully. Mouth open, eyes wide, she raises her chin and her eyes meet mine, sitting in the coffee shop up above, and she gives me a “caught” smirk, before leaning back against the desk. He is much taller than she is, though they are both wearing striped tops as though it were planned to show their connection. She wears a white top with pink stripes beneath her open, red, work shirt, contrasting his red and black thick striped woollen jumper. When customers appear he loiters at one of the book tables instead, waiting for them to go away. After a customer walks away they are talking again, and she makes a weighing motion with her hands like she is imitating scales, before seamlessly cupping her hands in front of her chest, and weighs those as well, grinning coyly. Not long after that someone turns up to take her place, and hand in hand they slide off together.