At lunchtime, I see her sitting down by the river. Who she is, I do not know, nor will I ever.
I’m not really a “people watcher”, at least as that term is typically used where I live. People watchers around here are a very judgmental group.
I do wonder about people, though; what stories they could tell me. Among people I actually do meet, I have something of an ability to draw stories out of them, I think mostly because, I’m interested.
I finish my lunch and go. I’ll never know what her story is.
As I’m driving away, a stanza from the Rubaiyat comes to mind:
“Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;
One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.”