I am grateful that I have a book. It fills the empty void of the wait times in doctor’s offices, and today, getting tires installed. The door swings open and a man in loafers, glasses that qualify more as spectacles, and pleated linen trousers (nothing as gauche as pants!) enters. Sizing up the room, he notices me and my tattered novel.
“Good. She is covered. Got her book.”
Satisfied that everyone is suitably occupied, he nods two times in quick succession.
“Ok, ok.”
He joins the line already four people deep since his lobby assessment.
“Wait. Wait. It’s all about waiting.”
