Wednesday, September 28, 2005

"He's taken so many ice cold showers he felt like he was a damned penguin."

In one graceful move she places herself in the train seat and produces a small paperback book. Except for a few pages, dog-eared to a perfect 45 degrees, her book looks as though it has never been read. Her bookmark tells otherwise—she can’t be more than 15 pages away from the ending.

"He's taken so many ice cold showers he felt like he was a damned penguin."

This one must be a page turner. She’s clocking in at about 2 pages per minute, each carefully turned with a clean, dry index finger. Has she read this book before? Or, are its contents much less steamy than hoped--needed? Perhaps all that is left is expositional wrap-up. Or, maybe her Romeo is a two pump chump.

She pauses on the last page for a brief moment and shuts the book with finality. With a look of diappointment, she glances at the painting on the cover and the book goes back in her bag as swiftly as it emerged. Replacing it is a worn and tattered promotional coupon book. For the rest of the ride she sits motionless, staring at a recipe for Ore-Ida home fries.