An old man sits with a book entitled The One Minute Organizer, his umbrella dripping against his leg, a pair of reading glasses perched upon the bridge of his hooked nose.
Occasionally he opens the book. He scans a page here and there and chuckles to himself. Then he closes the books and yawns seven times while his eyes scan each shopping body in the bookstore.
Heavy coat, woven cap, snow plow mittens. It’s a pleasant twenty five degrees in here but he stays bundled like he’s ice fishing.
He shakes his head at nothing, chuckling bemused. He sees a bookstore employee and opens The One Minute Organizer to no page in particular, and sits the spectacles back upon his head and chuckles, this time into the pages.