Sunday, April 11, 2010
Lately I've been really interested in people. Since I can't talk to strangers, I'm settling for writing about them.
It's been a dull day. Around 2 o'clock a woman didn't tip him and he felt like banging his head against the steering wheel. But he didn't. Maybe she just forgot. Or didn't have anything but tens and twenties in her beaded coin purse.
Still, he hated her right then.
Tomorrow, he'll do it all over.
But for now, he's satisfied from a warm meal, calm from drinking his favorite tea. Now, he'll smoke a cigar and play backgammon on the patio outside his most frequented restaurant, only pausing to look up every so often at the moon, waning crescent.
It, like him, says little.
It, unlike him, has no mustache.
Posted by Isabel at 6:14 PM