I’m being watched.
There is a woman five rows back, aisle seat, who looks like a robotic mash up of Ann B. Davis and the warden from Shawshank Redemption. She’s got a short cropped wedge haircut and small stud-like earrings. The bags under her eyes could hold a week’s worth of groceries. Perpetual frown. When she stares at me, she is attempting to memorize every detail for the police lineup she expects me to be present for, so she can identify me and get her statement taken.
But then, she looks away, either memorizing somebody else’s face or thinking about something. A sad, forlorn expression crosses her face. Perhaps she was once in love with a short brown skinned fellow with a hat, which ended in complete devastation to her emotional psyche, and is now reliving that time in her life? Or, the aforementioned fellow was the cause of loss of a pet? Who knows?
In my jump seat across from me sits an altogether different woman. Tall, curvy, oriental or Polynesian woman. Requisite long black hair, muscular, full lips with red lipstick, oval almond face, blue sleeveless blouse, front clasp ready to burst, ivory white rain jacket. Navy blue lacquered iBook with multicolored keyboard (pastels). Late twenties.
She is aloof. She doesn’t seem to want to notice anybody. Her long, muscular legs are crossed. The tip of her shoes touches the back of my calf, not because of any intimacy, but because she has no space left. Tapping away on her laptop. Hmph.
Also here are Buffalo Bill Cody with requisite mustache and beard, Carlos Mencia, young Ben Kingsley from Schindler’s List, and one of the Staples Sisters. All are armed.
Happy Tuesday. Safe travels.