Happened all the time. Especially behind the counter as a barista. So many customers came in eager with 'unique' ideas. And almost all of them would be uninteresting. In those cases she always felt like suzy described.
"I get it," Imogen said with a smiile.
It looked like the lady was going to ask her where she was from. But didn't. Paul came around with the car. Came out with an umbrella to walk his wife into the passenger seat.
"Howdy!" a pot bellied nice looking man said.
"Well, seeya sweetie! hope this rain dies down!"
"Me too,"
Imogen Howe
smiled and waved at the couple.
They alked slow, hunched over, but together. They looked happy even though they had run out of things to talk about. Maybe that was what happiness was. The ability to be silent with another. Imogen thought this and knew she could never be happy. for her it was always about having something to talk about, something to do. Action. Passion. Go go go!
She was aware now that this was the main cause of her suffering. She didn't know if she could stop though. It was a curse of her generation. This obsession on passion. She puffed on her cigarette once more. Took a deep look at its glow. Felt the heat against her eyes.
This smoking habit that she just carried on with no thought these days... that had even began as passion. She had thought it was so cool smoking that first
cigarette
sophomore year.