Where have you been? Where are you going? And why?
I set aside today to research writing for publication. I knew my own house provided too many distractions and not enough resources, so I found a nice, quiet corner of the library. Until he showed up. Why did he pick this table, my table? He sat down, opened up his gum wrapper, crumpled it up, and smacked his orange-flavored gum. He wiped sweat that dripped from under his hat. He breathed louder than I whisper. He wobbled the table, clicked his pen, and toyed with the gum with his tongue, allowing the saliva to slosh. He scraped his keys across the table, scrolled through options on his Blackberry which “clicked” with each roll. His pen slashed across his paper which echoed off the wooden table . His phone didn’t ring, it “quacked”, a duck let loose in the library. He threw pages as he flipped through a magazine. Then the whispers started, unceasing murmurs to pages of scribbled notes so unorganized that he must be some kind of prodigy genius soon to be famous and change the world. He made me want to go to lunch.