Thursday, March 8, 2007
I am sitting in the library. There is a man sitting at the same table as I am, diagonally across from me. He is reading a book and lounging back in his chair. He has one arm extended into the air with which he is continually making the motion of shooting a basket. But it is so languid that it's more like a cat pawing a ball of string. This fascinated me and I watched out the corner of my eye for a while, when all of sudden he turned in my direction, and I could see that he was crying. He wiped away the tear, took a moment, and then returned to lounging and pawing. I find myself unable to stop staring at him. I really want to know what book he is reading.
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5 comments:
Maybe he's crying because he has no control over his arm.
No. He was crying because he knew that Nathaniel Hawthorne caused me to go through one year of the stupidest English class ever invented, the only upside to which was developing a dead-end crush on a boy who sold me sandwiches.
He was reading "The Scarlet Letter"
Dead-end, Alice? Perhaps you're forgetting this exchange:
A: "What are you looking for?"
S: "My hat."
A: "Lost your hat?"
I remember that exchange every single day.
You exploded back onto the blog scene with this one, al. I was mystified in a good way, and then I laughed at the comments. A true winner.
Thanks, Rin. Also, thanks, Katie. I don't remember that exchange nearly often enough.
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