stranger stories

November 11, 2008

waiting in line at a local liquor store, picking up some wine.  the elderly lady in front of me is buying three giant boxes of franzia wine and a large bottle of sour apple pucker schnapps.  i wonder if she is shopping for a party or just drinking by herself.  the thought of her sitting alone makes me sad.  i hope she has friends coming over for happy hour.  her hair is perfectly coiffed and dyed an unnatural vivid red.  i remember how excited my grandmother used to be when she would go to the salon to get her hair “set” every week.  

staring out the bookstore window i watch a man walk past slowly.  he is wearing a polo shirt emblazoned – front and back – with an american flag, the faces of mount rushmore, and the preamble to the constitution. he is quite heavy and has a large, protruding belly that stretches the stars and stripes far beyond the point of distortion.  god bless america.  i wonder who he voted for. 

three boys walk by.  skin tight jeans, ear buds, unbrushed hair, palpable adolescent discomfort ineffectively masquerading as angst.  i have a fleeting moment of panic, fearing that i will be the target of their taunts, but then i remember that i am 30, not thirteen, so i should be safe.  junior high was half a lifetime ago, and really was not particularly miserable or injurious, but i am still spooked by packs of teenagers.


One Response to “stranger stories”

  1. kristen Says:

    Wow. I too am still spooked by packs of teenagers. I thought I was the only one still afraid at age 30.

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