I am killing time
reading Bukowski on tangerines
turning an engine over turning an engine over
this lady's laugh is like that
sputtering, rhythmic, weak, regular
if she doesn't want us to hear she should whisper less loudly.
How can such a falsely bright and animated voice be so boring?
This latte is deceiving me.
Cool white foam on top and searing black coffee from the fire in the
belly in the bottom of the cup.
Even her blouse is passive-aggressive. Red wannabe.
Cloying pink.
Citric.
The book she leaves on the table:
Making the Grade: Everything Your First-Grader Needs to Know.
Poor kid.
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