Me. You. Coffee.

Margaret stood on the lawn, people watching. Some she knew. Some she didn’t. She’d been watching one lad for a while now. He’d taken a particular interest in her extensive assortment of lamps.

He had walked alongside the table two or three times, stroking his chin thoughtfully and stopping every now and then to choose a lamp and polish it.

At the third lamp, Margaret could no longer hold her tongue. She marched over, placed a hand on his shoulder and told him that every item in the house clearance had been cleaned and scrubbed.

“Hi” he said, “I’m Al.”

Submitted for Friday Fictioneers photo prompt. See if you can write a piece of flash fiction in 100 words.