Einstein out of reach

Early on Valentine's Day, the café is crammed, but I get a seat by the window anyway.

The couple at the neighbouring table is debating whether the cranes they see a block or so away are dismantling or putting something together.

I've started breakfast when I sense someone coming up on my left side. He's a dead ringer for Albert Einstein, peering in at my porridge over my shoulder as he shambles up the sidewalk, an inch or so away from me, separated only by a pane of glass. He's not even that disconcerted when I wave at him cheerily, but wanders on.

I see a young woman at the next table start as he veers in to view her breakfast.