Glazed Eyes

Picking up a burger at Dick’s. I tap on the window, hello, to a familiar face. She was one of my manager’s when I worked here too many years ago to count (seven), she’s doing something with the cash register right in front of me. I warrant a brief glance, somehow confident and nervous at the same time. It’s something along the lines of: “Yes, hello. You’re tapping on the window at me because that’s what people on Broadway do. That’s all well and good – I’d tap back but I’m very busy right now, and besides, I never tap on windows with strangers.”

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