Thursday, December 23, 2004

Salmon sandwich

I was eating a (very good) salmon sandwich, gazing sometimes out of the window into the unusually brightly lit capital (Yuletide) and sometimes at the interior of the cafeteria. Towards finishing the sandwich, I hear noisy exchanges from behind a pillar and then a False Blonde, black plucked eyebrows, cigarette in hand, short and savage looking emerges into my ken. After a request from a fellow customer, and with her refusing to put the cig out, she and her company were politely asked to move table by a waiter, to one within the smokers' area.

"What is the big difference about this part of the shop?", she asked.
"This is the smoking area and, well, it is better ventilated.", replied the waiter somehow taken aback.
"Aha, yeah, I can feel the breeze here.", she added sniggering.

I had not been angry for days. Without wanting it, I ended up staring at her with all the cold contempt my loxian eye can afford. The False Blond misinterpreted this and thought I was eyeing her. She made a point at continually staring back in an intendedly mysterious but objectively ludicrous manner (the eyebrows! the eyebrows!), while raising her voice in conversation even higher. Jod thankfully arrived in time and salvaged me from all this sexual tension. Ugh.

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