A Nicholas Sparks Matinee
|
They walked up to my register as
Nicholas Sparks as possible. Twenty-something’s rounding life’s corner all white-teethed and primed. She’s scarfed suspiciously for late spring, her hair billowing forth like chestnut smoke. He, like her, dresses handsomely. I ask them questions and they play couples roulette better than the last few. His interest in whatever they’re doing here isn’t particularly important. She chooses, smiling insanely. It’s a romantic comedy. I automate the cost aloud. There is a moment of evolutionary consequence. Both fumble about their persons for wallets, though she’s too quick about it; she’s got her card out already but plays the skittish deer. He turns his pockets, then proceeds to security pat-down. They pause, facing each other. This is supposed to be the part where chivalry quiets the afternoon. Hopefully it rains- he can kiss her in it. |