While, loading up the washing machine an older gentleman comes in, bleary-eyed, kind-elephant feel.
At some point, I turn over to him and say: So your New Year off to a good start? He smiles, but a sigh escapes. Mostly, yes, he says. And then adds, ruefully, except for a bad poem.
Oh, my, I reply, antennae bristling. I'm sorry to hear it. You must be a rather sensitive sort...
Nah, not really, he shrugs.
Okay, quite thoughtful then, I offer.
Not especially, he replies, giving me a quizzical look.
Fair enough. Well, can I ask if that bad poem that's throwing you off was one you read, or one you wrote?
He smiles, eyes lighting up. Neither; I've had a bad cold since the beginning of the new year!
We both chuckle, and I say something to the effect
of: Well, now you know where my mind's at.
