Stories

Habit

Habit

She sat on the park bench, an enigma to the people passing by, ignoring her plain brown hair, her thick brown loafers, her thick frames sitting on the tip of her nose as she buried her head deep into her book. The cover was worn, tired, and like her owner, seemed soft compared to the steely gaze of the man watching the woman across the park.

To some his actions might seem strange, creepy to others. Each day as he left the office for his daily hotdog from Lefty’s, he watched the woman sitting still as a statue, in the park, moving only to turn the page, or shift her legs from legs to ankles crossed. He would watch her for a brief moment, never interacting with her. Never interrupting her reverent stillness.

She was an enigma.

He was a watcher.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Strangers in every aspect of the word, except…at noon, at lunch, in the park, two strangers were brought together in one simplistic way, they were creatures of pure habit. Immersed in their own world of thought, in the habits that brought them together, at noon, at lunch, and to the park where they interacted by being separate.

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