Sunday, January 30, 2011
82
The woman who owned the bookstore was obviously addicted to the Mary Jane, though she undoubtedly thought it didn't show. Her artwork was terrible and it hung in random places, like it was supposed to be a pleasant surprise, but was more unfortunate than that. Books were generally overpriced and hard to browse because of their haphazard stacking. The college students in the eclectic neighborhood thought it was wonderful mainly because they hadn't cultivated any astute judgment yet. What was well thought out was not yet appreciated; rather, if they were told it was "cool" then it was.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
81
The fall air was gold and crisp and it carried the eye for miles and miles. Golden sun warmed where it shone while the sharp shadows held the cold promise of frost to come. Evenings were heralded by woodsmoke fires as the light faded and left the summer-lovers surprised still. Willows yellowed, oaks held fast, and maples dressed in bright finery to be waxed and pressed by those who remembered in time.
Friday, January 28, 2011
80
As the barista deftly scooped the remaining foam off her no-foam latte, Margaret listened to the conversation occurring at the table closest. Normally, you couldn't hear anything, but it was eerily quiet. She realized the ever-present, ultra-hip compilation CD wasn't playing. Now that it was gone, she missed it.
"I can't make decisions. It's because of my mother. She never let me decide when I was young. My father worked all the time and I developed an unhealthy attachment to men who would abandon me."
"Mmm," said the man.
"One no-foamsoychailatte?"
"Thank you," she said, abandoning the woman herself as she was sure the man would, too.
Margaret sat at a small, round table near the front windows. Another woman with a lap full of computer sat in one of the upholstered chairs. The woman kept laughing at something she was watching. Eventually, Margaret had the idea that the woman was not laughing at something on the computer, but rather something playing in the woman's own head. The realization made her notice the woman's clothes, which didn't match, and her short haircut, which was uneven and quite possibly self-inflicted.
Her chai was hot, but not overly so. She sipped cautiously to make it last.
"I can't make decisions. It's because of my mother. She never let me decide when I was young. My father worked all the time and I developed an unhealthy attachment to men who would abandon me."
"Mmm," said the man.
"One no-foamsoychailatte?"
"Thank you," she said, abandoning the woman herself as she was sure the man would, too.
Margaret sat at a small, round table near the front windows. Another woman with a lap full of computer sat in one of the upholstered chairs. The woman kept laughing at something she was watching. Eventually, Margaret had the idea that the woman was not laughing at something on the computer, but rather something playing in the woman's own head. The realization made her notice the woman's clothes, which didn't match, and her short haircut, which was uneven and quite possibly self-inflicted.
Her chai was hot, but not overly so. She sipped cautiously to make it last.
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