The Tracks of Her Tears

Walking a couple of blocks to the bank for a company deposit is usually great blog fodder. I am an avid people watcher, and I always pay attention to the passerbys. Today's observations have bothered me, though. Just in front of Barnes & Noble, while trying to keep my path from veering inside for a fast peek at the sale rack, a woman passes me going the opposite direction. I first noticed the cigarette in her left hand and made a quick mental note to give her more room on the sidewalk lest I suffer a scorch to my pantsuit leg. My eyes traveled to her face, and instead of my usual smile to a acknowledge the morning, I quickly looked back to the enticing plate glass view of the bookstore. The woman's tear-tracked face was contorted in a grimace with a poor attempt of stifling an all-out bawl. The witness to such grief was unsettling, even if the misery was owned by a stranger.

My imagination took over: did she just get dumped by a boyfriend, suffer the loss of a loved one, or just get canned at work? Some women cry like this when they are uncontrollably angry.

Riding the escalator into my building, I found myself humming this old Johnny Rivers' tune.

Maybe it was just another manic Monday...