It’s all a lie. I work the words, speaking spastically in humorous verbs, and **** jokes. Strangers smile, and tender sweet laughter, which I love. So, I keep pushing the boundaries, working weird thoughts. They laugh more, which is what I work for.
Later when they are not looking, I look at them. I try to keep it less creepy than the other stalker type men, but I am studying them; Learning the limits of my understanding, sussing out the rhythms in which they speak and think. I try to devour their truths but hope they don’t see me struggling to see them.
I observe the hallway world. There is a man a foot shorter than me with a very wide waist, slightly longer white hair that gently curls at each end with small bald spot in the back, and the face of a cherub. Hands in his pocket he barely looks up but gives me a slight grin when I acknowledge him. Then his eyes return to the ground three steps ahead. He speaks softly and walks slowly. I know he is hiding something deep, but I do not try to see too far behind the surface, to the grander mind because people don’t appreciate that kind of trespassing. I wonder if his shyness is a product of years of rejection, abuse, or merely a reflection of a truly introverted disposition.
I am in a hurry, dropping off books at an out of town library, and picking up some poetry to devour later. She must be new, because she moves slowly. Then attempts to engage me in social pleasantries. I am trying not to pay any attention, and she is not super desperate, but she wants to speak and be heard. So, I really look at her.
Lengthy strands of brown thinning hair fall down her long skinny face, slightly obscuring a small growth under the left side of her cheek. Thin rim glasses look at me, as she talks about what she likes to read. Then shifts the discussion to the walking dead. She is passionate and despite my previous urge to escape, I am now sincerely engaged.
The gym is loud with ****** music and clinking equipment. She is stunning; Long wavy hair released after a hard workout. She is tanned, and thin but muscular, with a soft and generous voice. I ask her about her boys, and old man. She always appreciates that. We keep the chit chat short, so we can workout and get on with the day.
I stare back at a familiar but silent face, there is a building rage ready erupt, something deep and dark that is waiting to self-destruct. I do not like this person much. Dark hazel eyes pressure me, to seek something deep, short dark brown hair recedes but at a barely perceptibly rate. Teeth seem to be shrinking extremely slowly, except for the lost and already rotting ones. His body is losing fat. He is improving, but **** that. He should work harder.
I have little patience and compassion for this dumb doppelganger, but I still observe seeking something deeper, the darker unheard truths. I stare at him and snarl.
“I like them much more then you.”
