Don't Throw Away

Into my world strides sunshine and a waitress, the latter hitting an adjacent table to clean, getting friendly with a nearby baby.
In fact, casting about for something to write, I realise I am surrounded by infants.
One screeching, most of the others chowing on something, then another blast of sunshine through the glass roof, someone saying, 'that's the Summer over then' as it lessens.
Across several tables from me sits an older man staring into a gadget in his hands. I feel myself fading along with everything else, so complete is his concentration. He seems sad.
Another cloudburst of sunshine, but gone when I break from the screen to acknowledge it.
I am here a lot. I am sure the pigeons are beginning to recognise me as one of their own.
I love it here, I guess.
A small, thin man with a hell of a moustache commands my attention, potential explanations following him and fluctuating like his shadow.
But I will not assume. Where's the sunshine gone? A dog barks. One of the toddlers breaks from the pack and walks over to engage it in conversation.
This is all I have. Bye.