February 5, 2015 10:24 AM
Looking for a travel project—something to do other than write books and take pictures when I’m free to roam again—I wandered through a Barnes and Nobel listening for ideas.
Nothing. Jack Kerouac’s classic, On the Road, looks interesting at first, but after a brief perusal, it seems rather directionless. I’m already directionless.
I went to the travel section to see what others find interesting, but except for an entire book of things to do on Cape Cod (isn’t Cape Cod tiny?), nothing tugged at my soul.
I ordered a chai from the guy who’s been working in the cafe for over ten years, then pulled up a chair and sat and watched and waited.
Mostly seniors here, it being a drizzly Thursday morning and all. A woman wearing a Cape Cod sweatshirt reads a magazine (Cape Cod again); a man takes notes from a book he’s pouring over; and two women chat over their coffee. Of the two women, one seems to be disappointed in whatever she is relating—in whatever is going on in her mind—while the other just nods in agreement or understanding or boredom.
The man, book closed now, is leaning forward, adding notes to his previous notes. He’s onto something, you can tell by his body language—his goal within sight, yet not quite manifested. It’s just out of reach—out of reach, yes, but he can taste it.
A beautiful woman with long black hair walks by, holding the hand of a young child. Our eyes meet, and she allows them to linger a little longer than is normal and she smiles and I feel that primal rush of excitement. She’s not flirting as much as just happy/curious. I get that a lot. People—men, women, and children alike—often seem to find something unusual about this burka I’m stuck inside.
But it’s time to go. Mom’s first cataract surgery is today and I’m driving.
Still, it won’t be long now. I’ll be on the road soon enough and a side project would be nice.
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