Brief Interlude at the Bookstore or Apropos of Nothing Much
Giggle. Smirk. …couldn’t stand the teacher… O my god, did you see the guy looking at us… I couldn’t believe Jan told him what I said… where did you guys go last night…
My gaze and attention wandered along various posters on the walls, each portraying famous authors and their works. Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. William Faulkner’s To Have and Have Not. John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath. I wondered if my giggling duo might ever read such works.
Picking up one of my books, I was again reminded why I liked John Grisham’s writing style. Taut and not overly garnished with adjectives. He gives the reader wiggle room to flesh out the written word into his own, personal theater of the mind. Just enough description to put the reader into the scene but not make him an unwilling participant of the action.
Coffee finished, I stood up and walked past the coffee counter toward the door. My hearing aids were still sonically sharpened and I heard the barista say, “Have a nice day, Arthur.” I looked up; she smiled at me; I winked at her, and continued out the door.
What’s with her? She’s not even a quarter my age; she remembered my name; she fixed my coffee ahead of another customer, and she took time to smile at me. Guess it pays to be polite and friendly with sales people.
I got in my car and headed home, thinking that maybe this is what Tanya St. Clair tried to drum into her class about taking notes, remembering things: sounds, sights, smells, colors… well, let’s give it a try. Although I didn’t have a notebook to write down my impressions, I’ll just show her that I’m not, by golly, endlessly fixated on the Arctic and Eskimos.
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