Man:

“You look bored.”

“Excuse me?”

Never admit to looking bored, feeling tired, upset, lonely, vulnerable in any way.

“You look bored.”

“It’s quiet. It’s a Monday. I’m just taking a moment for myself.”

“You look bored.”

“How are you?” I inquire with a desperate gathering of strength and sparkle. Maybe there’s some residual sparkle left in the cracks of the couch I’m sitting on.

“I’m alright. What do you do? When you’re not in here?”

“I’m a photographer.”

“Oh really? Me too.”

“What do you shoot?”

“Digital.”

“No, what is your subject.”

“Well, I collect. I have a Liebowitz, a _____ , a _____ …”

I don’t give a shit.

“Would you like a dance? Do I get to dance for you?”

“I was just leaving.”

“Of course you were.”

I rise.

“Can I shoot you sometime?”

“No.”

“Can I call you?”

“No.”

“When can I see you again…?” I hear faintly as I walk away to another corner where I can continue with my nap.