There is the same man on campus that walks around with a shorts, Teva sandals, and a bag. He’s old, with a salt and pepper beard, a little pony tail, and a baseball cap. I assume he’s a student for some reason. He doesn’t quite seem to have the air about him that the homeless, who come into the library, seem to have. They use our computer and their possessions lean against columns – camping bags, sleeping bags, dirty bags.

At the beginning when I started at this school, it seemed I would see him around campus at steady intervals. I don’t know what really struck me except that he would walk around with a white, plastic, bookstore bag. Every time I saw him, he carried nothing but that bag and as time passed, the bag slowly fading and growing more decrepit with wear, I would wonder, ‘Why no backpack? Why this bag?’

From one sighting to another, he abruptly transitioned to another crisp and clean bag, still from the bookstore, and that struck me as well.  Why always these plastic bags?

It’s been several years. About a year ago, I noticed him walking into a coffee shop with an actual bag. It was a beige, canvas shopping bag. I remember staring at it and remarking to myself that he finally had made the step up. I felt silly to notice that. He carried that for a while. But when I left work today, I noticed him walking into the library, with a sturdy, padded, black and green handbag clutched in his left hand.

I wonder if I strike other people the way that certain people strike me. I wonder that I notice this. I thought about this as I walked to the car. I wonder if other people notice the same things and have the same thoughts about them as I do.

I see cars coming to the intersection. A mini van hits a bump just right, the front wheels dipping it deeply forward and slanting the top of the car. It becomes animated to me, seemingly bowing toward the intersection. I wonder how the person inside reflects all my connotations of the bow.

I see a young man in front of me, mid stride, reach up to rub an orange-reddish leaf between his fingers. I hear the rustling of his touch and his laugh from it. I wonder why he laughs. I rather hope he laughs in wonder.


11 Responses to Details

  1. eatsbugs says:

    This makes me feel nice inside. I thought I only noticed such things, which is a ludicrous thought, but it’s still nice to know I’m not alone.

  2. Kallie_Pigeon says:

    Lovely thoughts!

    But you failed to mention that guy is nearly always in a half-shirt. Some midriffs should require premits.

  3. eatsbugs says:

    …wait, what?

  4. Kallie_Pigeon says:

    But you’ve seen the half-shirt guy, right…?

  5. firewings says:

    Yup. Drives a red handicapped-signed Datsun-esqe car with a Faculty/Staff sticker. If I remember correctly, he likes to play pool with hot pants with his male dates.

    *cough* Can’t make this up.

  6. eatsbugs says:

    I can’t even be witty this morning, that’s just disgusting.

  7. firewings says:

    Whatever floats ones’ hot pants.

  8. E says:

    But if the hot pants are floating, in say a body of water, that implies that one is not wearing them. Oh and my. The hits keeps coming.

  9. firewings says:

    Did you know that the B-52’s did a song about hot pants?

    Lyrical excerpt from Hot Pants Explosion:

    You know what I say to your hot pants?
    Say what?
    Say get on down, ah ha ha…

    Oh my indeed.

  10. theMayor says:

    @firewings: haha I say get on down!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: