“Michaela, you’ve got every i-Gadget known to the human race, why don’t you join the twenty-first century and get e-books?” I strike a horrified pose, eyes wide, mouth making an O-shape.
“Because I, unlike you, like to live in the Stone Age; I like the feel of the paper in my hands, you know that. And besides,” I tell him, hands-on-hips, in a mock battle stance, “not all books are published electronically, and there might be a good one that I haven’t read yet.” I walk away before he can make fun of me further and say that I already own almost every book ever published. It is a definite over-exaggeration, though I had managed to fill yet another tall bookcase... So I was addicted to reading, there were worse habits, right? At least I was always learning something new.
With these thoughts I am carried to the book rack at the airport canteen. I have read most of the books. Damn, my habit foils me again. I had just turned to the next rack when I feel as though I am being watched. Looking up, I can see a tall man with dark hair under a dark cap glaring at me. Kind of creepy, but it takes all kinds, I think and turn back to the books.
“Rachel? Rachel! Oh my God, how did you get here so fast? I was, like, turned around for two seconds and you’re all the way over here? Shit!” I noticed the glaring man turn around and leave the canteen from the corner of my eye, and when I turn and look at the girl speaking, I can sort of understand why.
She is a very tall, bleached blonde, skinny young woman wearing clothing more fit for a jeans fashion shoot than an airport. Sky high heels, low-slung, tight black jeans and a bubblegum pink shirt is really just the beginning. She has on enough makeup and jewellery to drown a drag queen, and a handbag in black-lacquered nailed hands that costs almost as much as some people’s cars. She is also now staring at me with her jaw dropped, and eyes comically wide.
“I’m sorry, were you talking to me?” Sounds odd, but this really does happen all the time. Toronto is a big city, and when you’re five foot eight, blonde, slim and blue-eyed, you get mistaken for other people, or at least I do. Maybe I just have one of those faces.
“Oh my God, HA!” This last was shrieked in an almost sonic note. “Holy shit, you look just like my best friend! Hold on one second, ‘kay? I gotta bring her here to show her. HA!” With that, she totters away, hand bag swinging wildly, to find the best friend, apparently named Rachel. Shrugging, I return to the books, almost immediately finding one that I have not read, and find interesting. I am paying for the book when the clattering of heels turns me around. I drop my change in astonishment.
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