The man has begun to meet the same woman regularly on his way home
You ever notice how women look at you? Some stare at you like you’re shit. Like the women at post offices, they all got a gigantic chip on their shoulder. Not just the black ones; some of the white women, too, especially the dykes. Then there’re some women, not too many in this town, more back East, look like they’re afraid you’ll jump them, think all men are either gay or rapists. But most women it’s like you don’t mean anything to them. Sure, they’re polite and they look you in the eye, but they’ve got a life to get on with and they just want you out of their way. You know that Mars and Venus stuff; there’s a lot of truth in that.
But this woman - Melanie was her name - Melanie looked at me like we were both from the same planet. Maybe we didn’t know each other, but that wasn’t a reason why we couldn’t be friends. Even when Linda was in love with me, she didn’t look at me like that. With Melanie everything seemed right. I’d stand a little taller, speak a little quieter, really listen to what she was saying. Learnt more about flowers in a month than in all my previous thirty-four years. Could go into business if I wanted to. And I got to know a lot about her. From Pennsylvania, lived out here five years, works freelance advising film companies. Something to do with finance. Not married and no boyfriend. Runs every morning. Likes to spend time in the garden. Likes classical music concerts, art galleries, that kind of stuff.
Foreman, Martin. Los Feliz, Arbery Publications, 2013, pp 12.
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