Sunday, February 17, 2013

Maybe that's it.

I sit on a stool at the long table at Starbucks, waiting for Katie to get back from using the restroom. We ducked in here out of the bitterly cold and clear day after discovering we had an hour to kill before our movie starts.

The woman across from me, middle-aged, blonde(-ish), has left her notebook open in front of her, and I read (voyeur that I am) upside-down, "Dear Lord, what am I doing wrong, why can I find no clarity in this situation." The note trails off, and I look up for some glimpse of the inner turmoil reflected there, but she is placidly scrolling through her phone, with no indication in her expression of anything other than a mild, unthinking boredom.

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