Perfecting the art of looking busy

“Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.”

I should be studying for Englsih. But in all honesty, the text in my book is SO small and my head is hurting SO badly that I’d rather just embrace the hour badly spent.
I’m at Barnes and Nobles studying, fighting with every once of me the tractor beam that is trying to suck me towards the Vera Bradley doorknobs in Anthropologie.
The ladies to the left of me (strangers to each other) are ranting about the lack of need for the new spider man movie. They passionately agreed with each other, and went back to their reading.
The lady to the right of me is sniffling to someone on the phone about visitation rights.
The lady across from me just said something in a thick Irish accent about killing a living creature and finding its legs straight up and its body stiff. The man across from her met my eyes with a terrified expression.
I don’t know how I feel about people who take their shoes off in coffee shops. I’m not sure if I look down on their lack of concern for hygiene or secretly want to be one of them.
Fact: The lady behind the starbucks counter with the horn rimmed glasses guessed my drink AND my pastry. And its not jut some grande bold.
I get a soy chai tea latte with foam.
But to the divorcee, the spider man die hards, the murderous irishman, the psychic barista, and the internet, i must bid adieu. Faust is waiting to be read before midnight.

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