An Incident at a Bar

         She stood at the bar waiting to order a drink. Surrounding her were many older men, all salivating over her, and she knew it. One could see that she knew it by the look of peevishness and wariness that she wore on her face. A bitterness that spoke of knowledge—knowledge of men and their shamelessness. She carried a book that she had been reading. I tried to engage her from my place at the bar, and asked her what she was reading. She ignored me. Finally, disgruntled, I said: “She’s reading poetry!”   

        “She is not,” she said.

“What are you reading?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Maybe a reasonable question to ask her,” she said. “If you knew her name.”

With that, she walked over to a table, put on her headphones, and opened her book. She became at that moment impenetrable. All I could do was sit aghast in wonder.