The Discussion

Four women were chatting at a nearby table at the coffee shop. Appearing similar in age to me, two women dominated the talking. One was short and slender, with fair skin and dark, bobbed hair. The other was tanner and smaller. Smiling a lot, her silver hair fell around her shoulders.

They were talking about toothpaste. Looking up from my writing, I tuned in as the first woman said, “I put a pea-sized amount on my brush.”

One of the other women, heavy, with dry brown hair that came to her shoulders, loudly, sharply scoffed. “That’s not enough.”

The first woman replied, “That’s what the directions say to use.”

The brown-haired woman snorted. “Everyone knows you’re supposed to put toothpaste on all the bristles, from one end to the other.”

The conversation fell still for several seconds. “Anyway,” the first woman resumed.

I returned to my writing.  

Squirrel!

My wife and I were driving around, dropping off books at Little Libraries. So far, we’d dropped off twenty-five books at five Little Libraries. Only one stop remained.

I turned off East Main. It was sunny but rain was falling on the windshield.

“Squirrel!” my wife shouted.

I’d seen the squirrel bolting into the street and was braking before my wife said anything.

The squirrel and I both stopped. They turned and ran back to the sidewalk but stayed there.

I edged the car forward.

The squirrel edged forward.

I increased my speed.

So did the squirrel.

“Damn, dude, what are you doing?” I asked the squirrel through the window.

It turned right.

I accelerated away.

The Writing on the Page

I keep spying on the woman to my right.

Sounds quasi pervi, doesn’t it?

I just want to see her book, a small paperback. She flips through it, pen in hand, underlining passages.

I’m horrified and fascinated. Writing in books? I know others do this and it’s permitted under certain circumstances, but it’s something against my personal coda. Unless…is it a puzzle book?

What is this book she’s defiling? If only she’d put it down so that I can see it.

She left while I was busy writing. I never saw the book.

It’s another unsolved mystery.

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