Anna sat quietly in her booth at her local cafe. The cushion was comfortable and sturdy, and its cream colored fabric matched that of walls which was scattered with many little nick nacks. The warm summer sun pierced through the glass, but it's illuminating light was subtle and soft. It just added to the cozy atmosphere. On top of that was the heavenly aroma of coffee and freshly baked apple pastries. Anna could just imagine the flaky breading and the oozing warm sugary apple filling with small chunks of apple that melted in your mouth.

For Anna though, the best part about this place was not the delectable sweets, or the warm ground coffee. For her, it was the people.

And it wasn't just the employees, although they were still just as much fun. She enjoyed the many variety of people that came into this cafe for an assortment of reasons. To be honest, that was the major reason it fascinated her as much as it did. You see, Anna was a writer, and an artist. A Lot of writers and artists got inspiration for there work from something specific to them. Whether it was music, and landscape, an event, the many idea's swirl around in your head and the bits and pieces start to form together into one mish mashed beautiful piece of work.

(Like I got inspiration from this by looking at how badly chewed my nails are while writing a fanfic lol)

For Anna specifically, what gave her inspiration was looking at people. Not like a creep of course, in fact it wasn't so much of the people themselves. She actually tried not to look to much at their face. Other then the fact that she was super introverted, she almost wanted to guess their true personalities by looking at their hands.

Yes, you read right. Anna came every morning to this little cafe in her quiet little town to look at peoples hands. If you ever take the time yourself, you will actually learn that you can tell alot about a person from their hands.

Take this one gentleman for example, Anna briefly glanced at his hands. They were rough, but sturdy. Subtle wrinkles suggested that age started to come upon him. Even so, he must still be working. For his hands had a light faded dirty look, and his nails had black in them. Perhaps he worked with cars, engineer? Looking at his sleeve, she could see a scar that went from his wrist to his forearm. This for her further proved her hypothesis, but still it wasn't sure. The man then put his hands into his pocket, and Anna noticed that an old Navy pin was on a keychain that hung from it. After her observation, she took a peak at the man's face. He wore circular glasses, and a hat on his head that read, 'Navy Veteran'. His eyes were calm but full of wisdom. As if he could get out of any situation the world threw at him.

This concluded her hypothesis, she determined that this gentleman was a Navy military engineer that continued his work after he left the force.

A probable idea, but alas it was always the question. For the man soon left and Anna was left with her questions. She could have asked him, she supposed. Although, you know, social anxiety.

The next person that came to her attention was a younger girl. Anna guessed she was about 16 or maybe 17. She was a very perky spirit, the light coming in the window almost to intensify as she came inside. Anna smiled and looked at the girls hands. The girl hand gentle nimble hands, they looked comforting. Anna guessed that the girl wasn't super gritty considering how clean they were of dirt and grime. Not saying her hands weren't strong, in fact the way she fiddled they looked rather coordinated and firm. However, something else riddled her hands, blotches of paint. This made sense, she must be an artist. A pleasant soul with knowledgeable hands and mind. The girl probably liked children as well, Anna imagined her soft hands must be soothing to a crying child. It was a pleasant thing.

They girl had went to the bathroom, and Anna was left to her thoughts again. She laughed to herself as she wondered what people would think if they realized what she was doing. It was harmless, in fact she encouraged this sometimes. When you first meet someone, what do you do? Well, years ago you shook their hand. It was a proper behavior and considered to be necessary. Maybe they had a point. A good firm handshake showed the etiquette of a person. Not just that, but you could feel there hand. Was it rough? Gentle? Did their hands feel worked? In the simple exchange of a greeting, you could already have somewhat of an idea for the person. Anna wished they behavior was more common. Of course they still used it in the workforce, and she could remember her father always doing this with his buddies or others he met, but other then that it seemed the younger population wasn't used to this. She herself, prefered to shake someone's hand even since high school. Her classmates used to make fun of her, but she let them laugh. It was just a preference. Which was odd considering she got so nervous in social situations, but she guessed if she found the person 'worthy' enough to talk to then she could shake their hand.

That being said, their were people that she would watch that weren't necessarily appealing.

Example: This one woman that just came in. The woman was probably in her mid twenties, and was wearing something that you thought you'd only see in some perverted bar. People's style of choice, she got that. However there was also such thing as proper decency and not showing certain things to little children. Anna wasn't the only one that took offence to this lack of public appeal, many of the moms turned their children towards something else.

Anna rolled her eyes and looked at her hands, and tried very hard not to drift her eyes to the woman's face. 

The woman's hands were very pale, and her fingers wore black acrylic nails. It was those long pointy nails with the little jewels and stuff on them. Anna could never understand how people could ever wear those things. If you wanted to scratch your back, you were more likely to tear off the top layer of skin. The hands themselves wear very... frail. They weren't gentle and soft like the younger girl, they were, as Anna called it, prissy hands. Hands that didn't know the touch of hard labor, and never had a callus or a blister. They also looked ice cold, especially with the fact that the woman was so pale. She probably mainly lived a nightlife, barely getting the sun's rays. Yes, some people naturally are very pale, but Anna could tell the difference between genetics and deprivation. The woman just ordered black coffee before leaving.

Unlike the rest of the people, Anna didn't want to guess what that woman did in her spare time.

Soon, the morning rush was over and Anna paid waiter before heading to her apartment across the street. She tossed her purse onto the counter before plopping onto her couch. She laid there for awhile, thinking about who and what she saw that day. Did she have a moment of inspiration that clicked in her head? A plot to behold? No, but she was inspired. She was inspired by the people that walked in the world and did their own small parts to the larger community. The point that everyone had a story, whether long or short, hard or simple, the people of the world were the billions of gears that turned together or against each other that made the bitter sweet product that was society. 

Anna wished more people would see this, she wished that others would take the time to value others for their own effort into making a living. To see that not everything was so black and white, not even grey really. A mixture of colors from all corners of the globe, the people that created those colors. She wished... if only...

Anna paused a moment, and looked at her own hands. They naturally bent as if she were holding something. From drawing and writing so much no doubt. She could see the calluses that formed from countless hours of gripping her pencil and twirling it about. When she put both her hands in front of her, it was as if they asked for a keyboard underneath them. To write everything that was on her mind. This was who she was, she created. She forged stories to share with others and to inspire them as well.

"A story to share with others..." She thought.

Anna leaped off the couch like she had scratched the winning number off a lottery ticket. She ran to her room and turned on her computer, perhaps she had a momentary burst of inspiration after all. Opening a blank document, Anna quickly typed out the title.

People's Hands