2003-03-20 - 11:45 p.m.
It's the true crime ones that are the messiest. Perhaps sealed in the throes of a mobster's story, they toss books around as if a hitman were chasing them. Then erotica. Folded pages and smudged fingerprints. Positions checked in pen.
I walk over to a table, near a woman, a very unattractive female. I say, politely, as I gesture grandly,
"Excuse me, are these yours?"
referring to the books under my outstretched palm.
Her sneer arrives before her words.
"Ahem. I believe these books belong to the store."
I reign in my fervent desire to wrap my fingers around her fat little neck.
"Yes, but are you reading them?"
Slowly, deliberately she closes the book she's reading. Holding it roughly an inch from my face, she haughtily responds
"It looks like I'm reading this one, no?"
Jerry curled mullet headed white trash imbecile.
When I told a coworker of the incident, she loudly commented
"She's probably pissed off because they only gave her a day pass."
~j
+Mogwai+
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