I wrote this sitting in a comfy chair

Today while I was at the mall, I saw a man reading a large library book in a cushioned chair, to which I was immediately inspired to sit and write in my little black notebook. However unconventional it may seem to read or write inside of a mall disappeared, given this man, and given that I myself did the same thing a few weeks ago when the mall was much less crowded than today. How can I describe the feeling of flipping the crisp pages of my library's copy of Open City in a lounge-y chair, looking up every few paragraphs at the light pouring in from the windows on the roof? The echo ambience of music and chatter was not as distracting as I'd thought. Today I didn't have any desire to stare at a book, so I jotted down everything that came to mind with a black pen to match my cotton shirt.

Although securing my parking spot was a nightmare, I eventually found my way inside. I am instantly disgusted not even ten feet from entering as I see another adult-teenager trying to live vicariously thr—I mean mother—recording a group of children for a video, presumably for social media (it was a set-up ordeal). I only saw the last bit of it when I walk in, but it looked like the girls were all skipping toward the camera in a line. Gentlemen! I may be the biggest hypocrite considering this post and my channel, but it is just the mall! There is nothing very romantic about it. The mom had that "cool mom trying to be friends" voice saying "Okay, per-fect girls!".

Anyhow I don't really care about it that much because it was perfect inspiration for writing something later. I made a mental note to develop some idea of creative writing off of this.

 

My cloth bag contained a borrowed CD player, personally burned CD-Rs, my black notebook, my kindle, and my sunglasses. Initially I walked to this spot holding it with my index finger as it was draped over my shoulder (just like I did in Koloa...!), and for some reason a gentlemen who passed me gave a slight smile as we made eye contact. Was it friendly? Pitiful? Did he appreciate the bag? Was it at something behind me? Moved on quickly. How crowded this place is! The amount of young adults and teenagers is astonishing. So far I've counted mostly blonde and brown hair, not seen too much black hair, only one red hair. The sense of style for everyone is very similar, actually. Nothing compared to what you see at The Grove, though. I've not seen too many couples, but I always watch a little closer to see how they interact for inspiration of any writing, and to corroborate the fictional interactions between Isabel and Narrator—minus the British way of speaking. Regrettably I cannot actually make out any of their conversations when they walk by, but I'd imagine it go.... 

        "What do you make of that coffee place just 'round the corner there?"

        "Hang on, can you hold this for a second?"

        They do so.

        "What do I make of—Oooh, look! It was that store I was telling you about! C'mon."

        

Or if not in that setting, then in line waiting to check out.

        "Look at that dude up there," one whispers.

        They then propose an outrageously unfair assumption about the person standing a few feet away.

        "Shush! You're crazy."

        "Oh, get over it."

I take my spot at the chair and observe around me again while the disc spins and spins. Out of my eye I notice a girl walking with her party and giving me a look of uneasy curiosity (that's the only way to describe her face) as I write aggressively in the book. Was it curiosity at what I was writing? Why I was? How I was? Who cares.

My time here was coming to an end. I was starving, unwilling to pay for the mall food, and craving a drive home with the purple sunset. So I just left.