A Cup of Coffee
People watching is an extreme sport. Occasionally while I'm staring at someone they begin to stare at me. We have met at a juncture of voyeurism.
Today while seated in my car enjoying both an iced Starbucks decaf and reading a tome, I spotted the woman in a red Toyota staring in my direction. Perhaps she thought it odd to sit in the car and read. Had she known that I'm reading The Luminaries, the 2013 Man Booker award winning novel by the youngest author ever to win that prestigious award, she'd appreciate my diligence.
The Luminaries, and it's 834 pages, weighs in as a heavyweight. It easily has the heft of a Russian novel. Given that I don't own the book and the library doesn't care about pages to read as a criteria for days to keep, I must take advantage of every given moment.
Despite her fixed look I continued to turn pages. You need to be determined to finish the book within the allotted time. I don't like paying late fees.
Then I turned to look in her car. She no longer found my determination interesting. She was busy doing something to her face--creating sunken cheeks, drawing her lips up to reveal her teeth, opening her mouth and staring at her overhead mirror.
Despite the need to read my allotted pages I continued to observe her facial contortions until she finally reached the point where she used her two thumbs to squeeze a pimple.
How odd to use one's car to attend to such a private matter. When she raised her Starbucks cup and drank deep before proceeding to the next inflamed area of skin I returned to the digressions in The Luminaries.
Today while seated in my car enjoying both an iced Starbucks decaf and reading a tome, I spotted the woman in a red Toyota staring in my direction. Perhaps she thought it odd to sit in the car and read. Had she known that I'm reading The Luminaries, the 2013 Man Booker award winning novel by the youngest author ever to win that prestigious award, she'd appreciate my diligence.
The Luminaries, and it's 834 pages, weighs in as a heavyweight. It easily has the heft of a Russian novel. Given that I don't own the book and the library doesn't care about pages to read as a criteria for days to keep, I must take advantage of every given moment.
Despite her fixed look I continued to turn pages. You need to be determined to finish the book within the allotted time. I don't like paying late fees.
Then I turned to look in her car. She no longer found my determination interesting. She was busy doing something to her face--creating sunken cheeks, drawing her lips up to reveal her teeth, opening her mouth and staring at her overhead mirror.
Despite the need to read my allotted pages I continued to observe her facial contortions until she finally reached the point where she used her two thumbs to squeeze a pimple.
How odd to use one's car to attend to such a private matter. When she raised her Starbucks cup and drank deep before proceeding to the next inflamed area of skin I returned to the digressions in The Luminaries.
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