The Purse

She sat at a coffee shop table a dozen feet away, alone, attractive, maybe thirty, so he watched, a voyeur.

She probably knew but didn’t look. Setting her small black purse down, she opened it and took out a phone. An Apple laptop followed.

He gawked. Purse that small, little circular thing with a gold chain, couldn’t hold anything that big. That purse was like a TARDIS.

She drew out a power cord. A hardback book followed. Bottle of water.

No way, he told himself, no way. All that stuff from that purse wasn’t possible, and yet, he knew what he saw.

Looking up, she gazed at him with electric blue eyes and smiled.

Like she knew exactly what he was thinking.