_The Man_
passed right by me. i noticed them right away. they invaded my space. my space, meaning, the floor at which i am always looking. my eyes travel upward to expensive khakis, a long-sleeved plaid shirt [possibly from banana republic], further upward still to . . . . a pale, thirty-something peering at me with big brown eyes from behind a pair of studious wire rims. i look leftrightbehind. no one in the area. only me. me being optically devoured. he has furious brows. he stares like he will not have eyes tomorrow. attached to his hip, the aging, weary wife. she has dark hair like straw, and circles under her eyes to match. crinkly skin. a demeanor that seems to leave something to be desired [but, do they not all?] bending, and slithering i walk past just close enough and breathe. i know my skin is blood red from forehead to chest. what wedding ring? the honeymoon is over. the man swings out into an aisle, watching me maneuver (sp?) my cart. every time i look around, he is staring right at me. making no attempts to be subtle. [what does it matter?] i look into a sunglasses display mirror for a second as i turn to fix something, he is staring from behind. he is walking through narrow aisles, past walls which i must press myself against for him to go by untouched. he is standing in front of myself and some red haired lady beside me. a pair of glasses fell, he picks them up with a playing smirk. looking over fixtures of sunglasses to wide-eye me. he has the kind of hands that do tons of paperwork and type-type-typing during the nine to five. i think about how cold a grand mahogany desk would feel on skin.
older men are torturous.
i'm too observant. perhaps, too much for my own good.
funny because.. it took me so long to express the series of actions that all happened within about 30 seconds flat.. and honestly, i won't even remember that incident tomorrow.
It means nothing. But isn't it the sweet nothings that mean SOMETHING? Eh.. fin.
passed right by me. i noticed them right away. they invaded my space. my space, meaning, the floor at which i am always looking. my eyes travel upward to expensive khakis, a long-sleeved plaid shirt [possibly from banana republic], further upward still to . . . . a pale, thirty-something peering at me with big brown eyes from behind a pair of studious wire rims. i look leftrightbehind. no one in the area. only me. me being optically devoured. he has furious brows. he stares like he will not have eyes tomorrow. attached to his hip, the aging, weary wife. she has dark hair like straw, and circles under her eyes to match. crinkly skin. a demeanor that seems to leave something to be desired [but, do they not all?] bending, and slithering i walk past just close enough and breathe. i know my skin is blood red from forehead to chest. what wedding ring? the honeymoon is over. the man swings out into an aisle, watching me maneuver (sp?) my cart. every time i look around, he is staring right at me. making no attempts to be subtle. [what does it matter?] i look into a sunglasses display mirror for a second as i turn to fix something, he is staring from behind. he is walking through narrow aisles, past walls which i must press myself against for him to go by untouched. he is standing in front of myself and some red haired lady beside me. a pair of glasses fell, he picks them up with a playing smirk. looking over fixtures of sunglasses to wide-eye me. he has the kind of hands that do tons of paperwork and type-type-typing during the nine to five. i think about how cold a grand mahogany desk would feel on skin.
older men are torturous.
i'm too observant. perhaps, too much for my own good.
funny because.. it took me so long to express the series of actions that all happened within about 30 seconds flat.. and honestly, i won't even remember that incident tomorrow.
It means nothing. But isn't it the sweet nothings that mean SOMETHING? Eh.. fin.