I like to think of my life sometimes like a novel or a play, each line carefully written. It makes my internal monologue more interesting, because I can picture it scripted. This has been in my head for a couple days, since my trip to Barnes and Noble:
“Adam watched the people as they crossed back and forth his line of sight. Periodically, when the words he was reading struck him less than the words he was hearing, he’d just watch the conversations the fellow patrons had. It was easy to create generic stereotype for each of the sets of people in the cafe – the friend of the family entertaining said family who happened to show up, the couple who just met, the couple who’s pre-marriage, the couple who’s dated too long.
Everyone looked tired – not from lack of sleep – but worn. Everyone was there because they had to be. The couple across from him were there because they had to study for their medical classes. The couple who dated too long had to be there because they patched things together this way. Everything was predicated upon this notion. People who were working were there to make money, people were not working were there to spend money. And really, if he were honest, Adam thought, he’s working under the same assumption. He’s there because he has to be.”