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manofmyword) wrote2012-11-27 06:44 pm
manofmyword) wrote2012-11-27 06:44 pm
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There is a man in the bar, sitting alone at a table for four with the Observation Window directly on his left, close enough to touch. He has an enormous glass jar of jelly beans and he is methodically sorting them by colour into a number of smaller bowls laid out in front of him.
Other things about him that might come off as odd include: the fact that he is wearing a ferociously lilac button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows under a muted green vest; the fact that he is not wearing any shoes, and his socks don't match, one of them yellow with a black pattern of bats and the other black with little yellow smiley faces; and, finally, the scars on his face, extending the sides of his mouth into a permanent crooked smile.
He might welcome company. Or he might not. It's not always easy to tell.
Other things about him that might come off as odd include: the fact that he is wearing a ferociously lilac button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows under a muted green vest; the fact that he is not wearing any shoes, and his socks don't match, one of them yellow with a black pattern of bats and the other black with little yellow smiley faces; and, finally, the scars on his face, extending the sides of his mouth into a permanent crooked smile.
He might welcome company. Or he might not. It's not always easy to tell.
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Eying him and the beans, she reaches out and picks a dull orange bean.
"Any logic to this besides color?"
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". . . Squash?"
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She has a young son; you'd better believe she knows her kids' books.
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