I see this guy everywhere. I’ve probably had class with him every semester, but I’ll never remember which classes. He’s so ordinarily distinct. He chooses the table directly across from me. Of course. There are four other people in the café and he sits right there. I watch him make his bologna and cheese sandwich (on wheat) like he’s on stage. He’s reading, noting, and he furrows his brow when he feels my eyes on him. Upon finishing the sandwich he rolls himself a cigarette with American Spirit tobacco and dons his hat and scarf. I wonder where he’s going, where he’s been.
I wonder if he knew I was writing about him.
1 comment:
haha. i'm a guy just like that guy, down to his hat and scarf and furrows. and yes he definitely knows you wrote about him, because we assume that everybody will tell stories about us later. you should tell him you like his scarf even if you don't mean it. he'll know that you don't.
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