An Encounter
This morning, having downed close to 40 ounces of coffee at Nina's, I stopped at the convenience store on the block to pick up a candy bar. One must eat a tidge of chocolate each day, you know.
When I entered, one of the owners was standing behind the counter, leaning on his fists, watching with the sort of emotionless patience that suggests incredulity a woman sniffing a long red stick of incense. A bag on the counter contained two charcoal-colored sticks. These were, apparently, ones she'd already settled on. She was now carefully evaluating the other options for this mixed batch buy.
The owner and I nodded to one another. I grabbed a candy bar (Milky Way, as Snickers was all out). As I paid, and as I listened to the woman's careful inhalations, I glanced. She was muttering, "Oh, yeah. Yeah," the incense stick nuzzled (perpendicular) against her nose. The stick quivered slightly.
Our eyes met. I nodded. "Hi," she said. She went back to her zone in one long, careful, analytical sniff.
"Oh, hell yeah," she said.
-cK
When I entered, one of the owners was standing behind the counter, leaning on his fists, watching with the sort of emotionless patience that suggests incredulity a woman sniffing a long red stick of incense. A bag on the counter contained two charcoal-colored sticks. These were, apparently, ones she'd already settled on. She was now carefully evaluating the other options for this mixed batch buy.
The owner and I nodded to one another. I grabbed a candy bar (Milky Way, as Snickers was all out). As I paid, and as I listened to the woman's careful inhalations, I glanced. She was muttering, "Oh, yeah. Yeah," the incense stick nuzzled (perpendicular) against her nose. The stick quivered slightly.
Our eyes met. I nodded. "Hi," she said. She went back to her zone in one long, careful, analytical sniff.
"Oh, hell yeah," she said.
-cK
posted by cK at 08:55
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