Mud Soup

In my pocket I have: A kleenex, crumpled. Two $1 bills. A gum wrapper. Two quarters. One dime.

In my purse I have: A notebook. A drawing pad. Five pens. Three pencils. A lighter. A packet of gum. An eraser. A USB stick. Lipstick (spiced cider). Another gum wrapper. A pair of gloves. Chapstick. A book. Dancing slippers.

In a café, someone (charming, ordinary, with an entrancing smile) asks me for a pen; or maybe he doesn’t even ask me. But I can tell he needs one, he’s searching his pockets and his bag, with his sketchbook lying open in front of him. I hand him one of mine, and as my bag falls open he sees my book. He asks me what book I’m reading. We talk authors. I get out my notebook to write down the titles he suggests. He’s just finished his coffee. I offer him a stick of gum. He asks me out dancing. Let’s go! I’ve already got my shoes.