Trashy fiction in hand, we're leaving the Barnes & Noble. This bookstore shares a strip mall with a Pet Smart and a few other stores. A Target rises in the distance across a broad swath of parking lot.
Another couple is standing outside the doors and having a discussion.
"Let's walk," he says pointing towards the Target. "It'll be healthy for us."
"No. We're driving."
"Oh, come on. It's not far. It'll be healthy."
"No," she repeats. "I'm going to buy stuff. We're taking the car."
"Walking is good for us. It's healthy," he says. It's also 25 °F, but I guess one burns more calories when one is walking in the cold, making it extra healthy.
"You can walk. Give me the keys." Her patience is running out.
"Let's go together. It's a walk. It's healthy."
"We can go together. In the car. Give me the keys."
By now, Oz and I have moved out of earshot, but we're giggling. Oz is whispering, "'Come on! Give me the fucking keys!'" Behind us, some conclusion is reached. She follows us out into the parking lot in front of the bookstore, presumably with keys in hand. He troops out eastward, across the other parking lot, towards Target, alone for his constitutional.
211 words | December 15, 2004 09:23 PM | Real true story