Those eyes. Oh my goodness those eyes. I’m staring at him. He’s talking to me. No, he’s talking at me. I’m not listening. He looks at the cash register then he looks back at me and I’m still staring at those eyes. What am I supposed to say? “Don’t mind me staring at you. You’re about the age my son should be and you have eyes just like his?” Instead I just stare at him. He probably thinks I’m some creepy old lady. I let my imagination go it’s own way for just a minute… what if’s, what should’ve beens.
Why do these experiences happen at Panera so often? Damn you Panera, damn you.