August 14, 2009, 8:00 pm,
There is a man with sunglasses (big ones) sitting at a table across from me reading a book. His face is solemn and concentrated, and his eyes are looking downwards towards the pages of the book that is laying on his knees. I know he is looking downwards only by assumption, as there is no way of seeing the direction of his gaze, since his sunglasses completely hide his eyes and because his face is pointing directly in front of him and in my general direction. This last point is what is so peculiar about this man: I have the continual and disquieting feeling that he is staring directly at me - right into me - and it causes me too look up and at him over and over in an awkward way, only to come again to the same unsatisfactory conclusion that he must indeed be focussing on his book and not on myself. Still, I find this discomforting and am having great difficulty focussing on what I am doing, which is also reading. I want to say something, but I don't, for fear of him overhearing me. I take a sip of coffee. I want to do something, but I can't think of anything which would make any difference.
He takes off his sunglasses (under which he is wearing a pair of reading glasses) and starts talking to another man - a stranger - but now I can't help overhearing them. He is describing to the man, an outsider no doubt, all the many things there is to do here in this little city of Fredericton. There is nothing to do here.
Finally he leaves and I can continue on with my reading.
His name is Brad.
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