21 December 2003
i am a runner.
five a.m. foggy. freezing: hat, mittens, scarf. still cold.ten p.m. rain mixed with hail. visibility difficult. 30s.
two p.m. sunny. humid. thirsty. 104°
whatever it’s like outside, i’m still gonna do my thing. i once heard this woman saying, “of course i didn’t run today. it’s raining!” as if she’s going to melt?! please! get to it! be strong. i’ve been strong for eleven years, and it’s tough. you go out there and do it to make yourself proud. me, i have role models. including my friends, and others: my li’l sister Melissa Louisa (national qualifier, race walk), pre, joan samuelson, and every single other person who runs is an inspiration to me! so what if i’ve been through six coaches in four years? i don’t need them! i just need me! i run—you don’t understand why i do unless you do. when you’re running 15 miles and feel like dying and someone yells, “yay, keep going! you’re awesome!” you feel great. or when you see a deer in the woods. or when you just get that feeling—that high—runner’s high, and you feel yrself going fast, faster, fastest, and you feel like you are flying, as if it’s effortless, and you feel like you are flying, as if it is effortless, and you never ever want to stop. the endorphins! the energy! i’ll feel sick, or lethargic, and after a run, i feel completely re-energized. people always ask, “you run? why? how many miles? you’re crazy!” if only they knew my goals…adventure racing, and definitely, ultra-marathons! i want to travel to race—alaska, africa, sweden, california, everywhere. see beautiful places in tough cross-country races.
mark belger said, “you know who i look up to? i look up to the five-minute milers. because they don’t get any of the good things i get. they’re out there running just as hard. they’re the guys with guts, the guys with a lot of inner determination.”
(five-minute milers are slower; decent milers are sub-4 minutes)
yeah, i’ll probably never be in the marathon or a world-class runner like those muscle-masses, but i’m gonna try, keep running, working my hardest, for me.
i love to feel excellent.
running is my excellence.
i am a runner. any questions?
20 December 2003
REVIEW:
HOLIDAY SHOPPING:
How to deal with it
Okay, so you have all these stupid people to shop for. Oh, I'm sorry, you love those people. Like your boyfriend who loves bizarre electronics and your dad who collects windchimes. Well, here's how to deal with the holidays.
Via internet:
It's almost too late to do that now--unless of course, you do the express shipping. (Like Trevor prefers.) However, internet is a great way to avoid the long lines! Highly recommended. It's also easy to comparison shop via the web--just click and minimize! Go internet shopping!
Via Macy's:
Okay if you are insane enough to go to say, Macy's, go at 6am. That's what we did this morning, and it was smooth sailing. Of course one normally might think it was eleven in the morning at Macy's instead of 6:30. But still, it's a good time.
Via various stores:
Go, go, going, gone! You are going to hurt someone. Please don't bring a granny cart on the subway and run all over the city to 8,000 different stores on the same day and still have shopping. Instead, teach people the words "gift certificate" and "check."
Via gift certificates:
A great idea. Checks are also a great idea. Gift certificates show that you actually put some time into going to the store that they would like (or you could always get one of those American Express gift certificates) and a nice thing to do is buy something small, say a Godiva chocolate bar, or a pair of socks, or some deep conditioning treatment. They'll love the little present, and the ability to pick out something for themselves.
Via you, i.e., crafts:
I'm going this route. I won't say what because some people will lose their surprise! Sorry! But here's a few ideas that I'm not necessarily doing that may give you hope if you're crafty:
* knit something.
* sew something. an apron, perhaps.
* bake some time-consuming yet delicious treats.
* make candles.
* make ornaments.
* paint watercolors.
* write poems.
via nothing:
A nice idea except you will hurt people's gifts, maybe get into fights, and receive no gifts for the rest of your life.
via tell me:
Easy. But of course like a librarian knows, sometimes these things don't exist, and you will spend more time looking for that specific item than you would finding something they would like.
On that note:
Happy Shopping, and
Happy Holidays!
Merry Winter Solstice!
HOLIDAY SHOPPING:
How to deal with it
Okay, so you have all these stupid people to shop for. Oh, I'm sorry, you love those people. Like your boyfriend who loves bizarre electronics and your dad who collects windchimes. Well, here's how to deal with the holidays.
Via internet:
It's almost too late to do that now--unless of course, you do the express shipping. (Like Trevor prefers.) However, internet is a great way to avoid the long lines! Highly recommended. It's also easy to comparison shop via the web--just click and minimize! Go internet shopping!
Via Macy's:
Okay if you are insane enough to go to say, Macy's, go at 6am. That's what we did this morning, and it was smooth sailing. Of course one normally might think it was eleven in the morning at Macy's instead of 6:30. But still, it's a good time.
Via various stores:
Go, go, going, gone! You are going to hurt someone. Please don't bring a granny cart on the subway and run all over the city to 8,000 different stores on the same day and still have shopping. Instead, teach people the words "gift certificate" and "check."
Via gift certificates:
A great idea. Checks are also a great idea. Gift certificates show that you actually put some time into going to the store that they would like (or you could always get one of those American Express gift certificates) and a nice thing to do is buy something small, say a Godiva chocolate bar, or a pair of socks, or some deep conditioning treatment. They'll love the little present, and the ability to pick out something for themselves.
Via you, i.e., crafts:
I'm going this route. I won't say what because some people will lose their surprise! Sorry! But here's a few ideas that I'm not necessarily doing that may give you hope if you're crafty:
* knit something.
* sew something. an apron, perhaps.
* bake some time-consuming yet delicious treats.
* make candles.
* make ornaments.
* paint watercolors.
* write poems.
via nothing:
A nice idea except you will hurt people's gifts, maybe get into fights, and receive no gifts for the rest of your life.
via tell me:
Easy. But of course like a librarian knows, sometimes these things don't exist, and you will spend more time looking for that specific item than you would finding something they would like.
On that note:
Happy Shopping, and
Happy Holidays!
Merry Winter Solstice!
16 December 2003
prose:
coney island
it is coney island. the boardwalk. a little kitten on a pink leash and a girl smoking cigarettes, following the orange tabby. the girl is wearing too much lipstick and speaking on her cell phone, obviously an important conversation. she is crying and her makeup is smeared.
“but you can’t, you just can’t.” the caller says something and the girl crouches, presses her hands to her face, nearly dropping her phone. the cat leash is wrapped around her wrist twice. “i can’t take this, i need it to just work.”
two men were following the girl. they said nothing, except once, the guy with the red hat said, “cute cat.”
she hung up the phone. “oh marbles,” she said, grabbing the squirming cat to her chest. she suffocated her sobs into the cat’s fur. they were on the sand now. she let the cat free of her tight clasp and watched it scratch the sand, go to the bathroom, and bury it. they walked on.
coney island
it is coney island. the boardwalk. a little kitten on a pink leash and a girl smoking cigarettes, following the orange tabby. the girl is wearing too much lipstick and speaking on her cell phone, obviously an important conversation. she is crying and her makeup is smeared.
“but you can’t, you just can’t.” the caller says something and the girl crouches, presses her hands to her face, nearly dropping her phone. the cat leash is wrapped around her wrist twice. “i can’t take this, i need it to just work.”
two men were following the girl. they said nothing, except once, the guy with the red hat said, “cute cat.”
she hung up the phone. “oh marbles,” she said, grabbing the squirming cat to her chest. she suffocated her sobs into the cat’s fur. they were on the sand now. she let the cat free of her tight clasp and watched it scratch the sand, go to the bathroom, and bury it. they walked on.
12 December 2003
An Addendum:
Legwarmers
I love my legwarmers. Last week, it was too warm to wear them in the morning, but the forecast warned of cold. I had them tucked in my large pocket, and thought of how nice these huge pockets of my coat were. Then...the G train came. I ran to catch it. People were around me. I got on, sat down, and realized...my beautiful sparkly lavender legwarmers were gone! Gone! I got off at the next stop, ran around to the other side, took the G back to Greenpoint, and ran to the other side of the track where I originally was. Unfortunately, some other legwarmer-lover snagged my beautiful legwarmers! Sob! I was quite depressed, and now, my life is just a bit empty where those beautiful, stretchy yet strong, stylish yet long, legwarmers remained.
Legwarmers
I love my legwarmers. Last week, it was too warm to wear them in the morning, but the forecast warned of cold. I had them tucked in my large pocket, and thought of how nice these huge pockets of my coat were. Then...the G train came. I ran to catch it. People were around me. I got on, sat down, and realized...my beautiful sparkly lavender legwarmers were gone! Gone! I got off at the next stop, ran around to the other side, took the G back to Greenpoint, and ran to the other side of the track where I originally was. Unfortunately, some other legwarmer-lover snagged my beautiful legwarmers! Sob! I was quite depressed, and now, my life is just a bit empty where those beautiful, stretchy yet strong, stylish yet long, legwarmers remained.
An Addendum:Houseguests
I realize that you may read that email and decide never to be friends with me! NO! That is not it! You may visit me but I'm just saying that some people don't know how to respect a host/houseguest situation. Be polite, and I will spoil you as you spoil me. Otherwise, we will end up hating each other.
And you don't need to buy wine when you visit because I don't like it unless there is fruit floating in it...I LOVE SANGRIA!
I realize that you may read that email and decide never to be friends with me! NO! That is not it! You may visit me but I'm just saying that some people don't know how to respect a host/houseguest situation. Be polite, and I will spoil you as you spoil me. Otherwise, we will end up hating each other.
And you don't need to buy wine when you visit because I don't like it unless there is fruit floating in it...I LOVE SANGRIA!
09 December 2003
REVIEW:
HOUSEGUESTS
This is not meant to intimidate you. This is just meant to encourage you to look into the idea of a hotel.
Hi, you want to be my visitor. I know I have a cute little Greenpoint apt with colored walls and an adorable kitten. I do have food in my refrigerator, but I stock up because I shop infrequently (I don't have time). I have a comfy futon and supposedly decent water pressure. However, if you'd like to stay, here's some rules on how to be a good houseguest. (I'm learning from the bad ones!)
1. Thank them. Often. Repay your gratitude by doing housework, taking them out for dinner, buying them a little present for their house. I've been in this situation before, and I've bought groceries, house knick-knacks.
2. Don't eat their food. Even if they say it's okay. (Which sometimes they don't!) Buy food. Honey, this is Brooklyn. There's a pizzeria on every corner.
3. If you are starving and need to eat, there are rules:
never start anything
and
never finish anything.
I thought this rule was pretty much unspoken but I guess I have to remind some people. If there is a little bit, they may want that last bite or bit, and if there is an unopened whatever, they may be saving it for something.
4. If you eat their food and ask they may say yes because they are not comfortable saying no. Also, if you are eating their raviollis with catsup, do them the favor and eat it decently; sauce. (Remember her, Trev?)
5. No sex in their house. Unless you are their goodest bestest friend they may not like this.
6. Do not messy their house. This is not cool.
7. Don't go through their stuff, or borrow their clothes or whatever you think it's okay to borrow. It may not be.
8. Offer to do your host favors, such as fetching dry cleaning or preparing dinner. They'll thank you.
9. Ask your host places to see in the neighborhood, and allow them to take you on a tour.
I don't mean this to be disparaging, that I don't want houseguests. I like houseguests, but I just don't want a roommate. Especially in my one-bedroom apartment. (Trevor, you're clear; you're my boyfriend.) (Marie you can stay over still, this isn't you!) So respect your houseguest. I try to start off on the right foot--a bottle of wine if you are going to be impeding their lifestyle, maybe some pastries (yum!) or just some love. But please, don't take things for granted. DON'T!
HOUSEGUESTS
This is not meant to intimidate you. This is just meant to encourage you to look into the idea of a hotel.
Hi, you want to be my visitor. I know I have a cute little Greenpoint apt with colored walls and an adorable kitten. I do have food in my refrigerator, but I stock up because I shop infrequently (I don't have time). I have a comfy futon and supposedly decent water pressure. However, if you'd like to stay, here's some rules on how to be a good houseguest. (I'm learning from the bad ones!)
1. Thank them. Often. Repay your gratitude by doing housework, taking them out for dinner, buying them a little present for their house. I've been in this situation before, and I've bought groceries, house knick-knacks.
2. Don't eat their food. Even if they say it's okay. (Which sometimes they don't!) Buy food. Honey, this is Brooklyn. There's a pizzeria on every corner.
3. If you are starving and need to eat, there are rules:
never start anything
and
never finish anything.
I thought this rule was pretty much unspoken but I guess I have to remind some people. If there is a little bit, they may want that last bite or bit, and if there is an unopened whatever, they may be saving it for something.
4. If you eat their food and ask they may say yes because they are not comfortable saying no. Also, if you are eating their raviollis with catsup, do them the favor and eat it decently; sauce. (Remember her, Trev?)
5. No sex in their house. Unless you are their goodest bestest friend they may not like this.
6. Do not messy their house. This is not cool.
7. Don't go through their stuff, or borrow their clothes or whatever you think it's okay to borrow. It may not be.
8. Offer to do your host favors, such as fetching dry cleaning or preparing dinner. They'll thank you.
9. Ask your host places to see in the neighborhood, and allow them to take you on a tour.
I don't mean this to be disparaging, that I don't want houseguests. I like houseguests, but I just don't want a roommate. Especially in my one-bedroom apartment. (Trevor, you're clear; you're my boyfriend.) (Marie you can stay over still, this isn't you!) So respect your houseguest. I try to start off on the right foot--a bottle of wine if you are going to be impeding their lifestyle, maybe some pastries (yum!) or just some love. But please, don't take things for granted. DON'T!
07 December 2003
PROSE
The voice:
it’s like when you’re in an airplane. it starts, the engine warming up when the flight attendants are showing you how to buckle a seatbelt, in case you didn’t know by now, hearing the low rumble of the engine. when it starts, it’s like you start off the runway, and when she really starts, you’ve lifted off the runway, your plane tilted upwards, you forced back into your chair, your head pulled back, the rushing of unreality around you.
you are glad you wore a seatbelt.
The voice:
it’s like when you’re in an airplane. it starts, the engine warming up when the flight attendants are showing you how to buckle a seatbelt, in case you didn’t know by now, hearing the low rumble of the engine. when it starts, it’s like you start off the runway, and when she really starts, you’ve lifted off the runway, your plane tilted upwards, you forced back into your chair, your head pulled back, the rushing of unreality around you.
you are glad you wore a seatbelt.
06 December 2003
REVIEW:
WEATHER
Maybe you don't live in NY. But honey, it's snowing! Blizzarding, although Dustin my Ohio-born-and-bred friend, says this is nothing. This is chaos!
Why do I hate snow? I don't. I think it's beautiful and fun. The energy is great. Everyone is running around my neighborhood, shrieking and drinking hot cocoa and "oh, do we have any more marshmallows at home" kind of day. It's the perfect day to spend curled up with a nice book. Well, my cataloging book doesn't seem so terrible. (I love it but I'd rather be outside right now.)
Here's a few reasons why I do not like winter: (Sorry Trevor)
1. Cold.
2. You are in SO many layers--ridiculous. You always have to lug around a coat and scarf and mittens and hat and you are hot inside and cold outside. It doesn't make sense. No one looks cute in winter-time.
3. Snow may be fun, but if you are a runner, it brings unfavorable consequences alongside, including:
a. Hard to run in the snow if it's deep.
b. Your feet get cold and wet.
c. After the snow melts, you have slush and ice. Slush is yucky but manageable; ice is not. Stay inside and get fat.
4. You can't take your cats on walks because she refuses to wear a hotpink sweater in the winter cold. She'd rather be naked, but she's cold.
5. Seasonal Affective Syndrome--I've got it and most people probably do. I deal by lighting lots of candles, keeping tons of lights around me.
What to do:
Check out and enter various locations until you find one that is warm enough.
Then go to and look for plane tickets and hotel reservations.
Then look sad to the love of your life (whether it be your husband, girlfriend, best friend, mother, or wealthy schnauzzer) and convince them you need to leave. Wear sunscreen (especially if you are calling out "sick" from work because they may have trouble understanding why the Bahamas are a cure for your illness and depression, which it is!) and build sandcastles. Send postcards to everyone, hahahah. Don't worry, they'll send you some several weeks later when they're in Bermuda.
WEATHER
Maybe you don't live in NY. But honey, it's snowing! Blizzarding, although Dustin my Ohio-born-and-bred friend, says this is nothing. This is chaos!
Why do I hate snow? I don't. I think it's beautiful and fun. The energy is great. Everyone is running around my neighborhood, shrieking and drinking hot cocoa and "oh, do we have any more marshmallows at home" kind of day. It's the perfect day to spend curled up with a nice book. Well, my cataloging book doesn't seem so terrible. (I love it but I'd rather be outside right now.)
Here's a few reasons why I do not like winter: (Sorry Trevor)
1. Cold.
2. You are in SO many layers--ridiculous. You always have to lug around a coat and scarf and mittens and hat and you are hot inside and cold outside. It doesn't make sense. No one looks cute in winter-time.
3. Snow may be fun, but if you are a runner, it brings unfavorable consequences alongside, including:
a. Hard to run in the snow if it's deep.
b. Your feet get cold and wet.
c. After the snow melts, you have slush and ice. Slush is yucky but manageable; ice is not. Stay inside and get fat.
4. You can't take your cats on walks because she refuses to wear a hotpink sweater in the winter cold. She'd rather be naked, but she's cold.
5. Seasonal Affective Syndrome--I've got it and most people probably do. I deal by lighting lots of candles, keeping tons of lights around me.
What to do:
Check out and enter various locations until you find one that is warm enough.
Then go to and look for plane tickets and hotel reservations.
Then look sad to the love of your life (whether it be your husband, girlfriend, best friend, mother, or wealthy schnauzzer) and convince them you need to leave. Wear sunscreen (especially if you are calling out "sick" from work because they may have trouble understanding why the Bahamas are a cure for your illness and depression, which it is!) and build sandcastles. Send postcards to everyone, hahahah. Don't worry, they'll send you some several weeks later when they're in Bermuda.
03 December 2003
BOULDER: An observation from this summer. Can we say, history? Ah well, those were the easy days, and it'd be nice to spend all day writing......
flip-flop
it seems as if every other person in boulder wears flip-flops; the other fifty percent wear either sneakers or sandals. i haven’t seen a pair of dress shoes, god forbid high heels, since my last time at DIA, and those people are all going or coming someplace, not from or to boulder, that’s for sure.
a large woman in a blue flowered muumuu wearing fluorescent orange flip-flops flip flops her way to the circulation desk. she has a volunteer pin bearing her name, “DONNA,” and hanging from a heavily tarnished chain, a silver sun medallion. she slams four books-on-tapes on the desk, and speaks before she can be spoken to. “ignore how many talking books i have checked out. it’s one of my perks, after being a volunteer for ten years.”
across from the circulation desks, a man in a gatorade t-shirt hides his computer screen to others. he laughs too loudly for being in a library, and blushes. he types furiously. he is wearing worn brown sandals, the type you buy at target or k-mart for $9.99.
behind him, pacing, loud flip-flops smacking as he paces back and forth, back and forth. a man with a long face and his hands awkwardly supporting his back, waits for a computer, sighing, checking his watch, sighing. his sneakers are tattered brown hiking sneakers, and there is a hole by the big toe, and his white socks are visible.
with stomach that looks like the owner’s “boulder road running club long-time member” t-shirt is lying, a man insists the library should purchase every neil young cd. “i drive my record shop crazy. and you don’t have this new neil young book. “a place to go?” “a journey to go?” i think it’s called one of those. you can look it up. look it up. i drive my record shop crazy. i love neil young. he’s a god. to those who realize it. really. don’t you realize it?”
behind him, a petite girl with blonde curly hair, red flip-flops, short shorts and a black bebe shirt smiles nervously. her larger boyfriend looms over her, grinning his white teeth. he is one of the few black people in boulder. she giggles as she applies for a library card. “oh really? online renewals? that’s just great.” she checks out men are from mars, women are from venus, recommended by her ex-boyfriend she tells me. her boyfriend doesn’t seem to notice the look in her eyes, that sparkle, when she mentions her ex. the woman behind her, wearing a tacky knee-length black skirt covered with sea anemones and brightly colored fish, smiles and agrees, “men seriously are from mars…maybe even another solar system.” when told about her overdue fines, from four weeks earlier, she writes out a check for one dollar on a charlie brown check, and smiles absently. “that fine was from so long ago.”
another person wearing their bike helmet indoors shakes her head, showing off her jingling turquoise earrings that match her turquoise corduroy shirt and her turquoise flip-flops. she drops several books on the table. tony hillerman. faye kellerman. jonathan kellerman. what do these people write about anyway? they’re awfully popular. the mystery fan’s husband comes up behind her, grabbing her tightly. his face is completely covered with hair, gray moustache and beard and sideburns. you can’t even see his lips. he says something and only hair moves.
a hippie girl with long blonde hair and flowered flip-flops holds on to her boyfriend’s arm. she comments on every book he checks out. he is quiet. she can’t stop laughing. “the elevator, that elevator,” she whispers loudly in his ear, laughing. her cheeks are red, her eyes sparkling. he lets her carry most of the books and walks quickly ahead of her. “wait,” she calls. he is oblivious.
a woman with cellulite on her calves and a black and white print skirt laughs aloud, talking on her cellular phone. she does not notice her husband, who wears black dress pants with matching jacket and black and green tevas, flirting and smiling at the librarians and circulation clerks. handing over his books and his card, “you look so beautiful, so pretty. you must have a boyfriend, many boyfriends.” his wife, oblivious, smiles into the phone, “make sure you take care of that, really now. i have to take care of the michelan accounts, so you can handle that one.” the man places his hand over the small one belonging to the clerk at the desk, grinning. “truly beautiful,” he continues. he can hear his wife saying goodbye, and he collects his books.
“thank you. goodnight.”
flip-flop
it seems as if every other person in boulder wears flip-flops; the other fifty percent wear either sneakers or sandals. i haven’t seen a pair of dress shoes, god forbid high heels, since my last time at DIA, and those people are all going or coming someplace, not from or to boulder, that’s for sure.
a large woman in a blue flowered muumuu wearing fluorescent orange flip-flops flip flops her way to the circulation desk. she has a volunteer pin bearing her name, “DONNA,” and hanging from a heavily tarnished chain, a silver sun medallion. she slams four books-on-tapes on the desk, and speaks before she can be spoken to. “ignore how many talking books i have checked out. it’s one of my perks, after being a volunteer for ten years.”
across from the circulation desks, a man in a gatorade t-shirt hides his computer screen to others. he laughs too loudly for being in a library, and blushes. he types furiously. he is wearing worn brown sandals, the type you buy at target or k-mart for $9.99.
behind him, pacing, loud flip-flops smacking as he paces back and forth, back and forth. a man with a long face and his hands awkwardly supporting his back, waits for a computer, sighing, checking his watch, sighing. his sneakers are tattered brown hiking sneakers, and there is a hole by the big toe, and his white socks are visible.
with stomach that looks like the owner’s “boulder road running club long-time member” t-shirt is lying, a man insists the library should purchase every neil young cd. “i drive my record shop crazy. and you don’t have this new neil young book. “a place to go?” “a journey to go?” i think it’s called one of those. you can look it up. look it up. i drive my record shop crazy. i love neil young. he’s a god. to those who realize it. really. don’t you realize it?”
behind him, a petite girl with blonde curly hair, red flip-flops, short shorts and a black bebe shirt smiles nervously. her larger boyfriend looms over her, grinning his white teeth. he is one of the few black people in boulder. she giggles as she applies for a library card. “oh really? online renewals? that’s just great.” she checks out men are from mars, women are from venus, recommended by her ex-boyfriend she tells me. her boyfriend doesn’t seem to notice the look in her eyes, that sparkle, when she mentions her ex. the woman behind her, wearing a tacky knee-length black skirt covered with sea anemones and brightly colored fish, smiles and agrees, “men seriously are from mars…maybe even another solar system.” when told about her overdue fines, from four weeks earlier, she writes out a check for one dollar on a charlie brown check, and smiles absently. “that fine was from so long ago.”
another person wearing their bike helmet indoors shakes her head, showing off her jingling turquoise earrings that match her turquoise corduroy shirt and her turquoise flip-flops. she drops several books on the table. tony hillerman. faye kellerman. jonathan kellerman. what do these people write about anyway? they’re awfully popular. the mystery fan’s husband comes up behind her, grabbing her tightly. his face is completely covered with hair, gray moustache and beard and sideburns. you can’t even see his lips. he says something and only hair moves.
a hippie girl with long blonde hair and flowered flip-flops holds on to her boyfriend’s arm. she comments on every book he checks out. he is quiet. she can’t stop laughing. “the elevator, that elevator,” she whispers loudly in his ear, laughing. her cheeks are red, her eyes sparkling. he lets her carry most of the books and walks quickly ahead of her. “wait,” she calls. he is oblivious.
a woman with cellulite on her calves and a black and white print skirt laughs aloud, talking on her cellular phone. she does not notice her husband, who wears black dress pants with matching jacket and black and green tevas, flirting and smiling at the librarians and circulation clerks. handing over his books and his card, “you look so beautiful, so pretty. you must have a boyfriend, many boyfriends.” his wife, oblivious, smiles into the phone, “make sure you take care of that, really now. i have to take care of the michelan accounts, so you can handle that one.” the man places his hand over the small one belonging to the clerk at the desk, grinning. “truly beautiful,” he continues. he can hear his wife saying goodbye, and he collects his books.
“thank you. goodnight.”
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