The young man with a mustache
And mop of unkempt, curly hair
Walks by muttering, counting off his points
On fingers raised, as if in argument with himself.
It is is the fourth time.
Each time at the water fountain he lets the water run
For half a second and then one long, loud slurp,
And then back to his seat again.
He comes again and slurps and turns to go
But then he stops, turns, and slurps again.
People never fail to surprise you.