I don’t mean the casual observer

I’m talking about someone who will stand at a checkout line

in the supermarket and study the merchandise of the customer in front of them.

Then concentrate on each of their articles, decide what it might be used
for, and imagine

what type of life they were living.

They’d sneak into people’s lives with their eyes and their

brain.

No one escapes it.

There lying on the counter, waiting for its turn to be

scanned, is Mucinex. Obviously someone is ill in the family or has sinus

problems.

The next thing is a medium size box of Milk Bones, with a

Beagle on the front, which tells them this senior citizen must own a small dog.

In back of the box was Mascara Noir, which was quickly

packed into her purse, before they could identify its brand. But after studying

the woman’s attractive face, as her spectacles dangled from her nose,

revealing a very becoming green eye shadow, it didn’t matter what company

produced it.

Without purpose these people see things beyond their present

appearance and sometimes connect them to a story idea. Then if there is time,
they

might even take notes, at the expense of a clean napkin. And eventually

relive those moments of beauty.

I know, because, I’m one of them.

This talent has been with me from childhood. I was never

taught, and I did not glean it from any lecture on writing.

I not sure this is a positive thing or not.

These are my day dreams. The ones that let me get a glimpse

into other people’s lives, which is fascinating, no matter where or when the

circumstance takes me.

I cannot help myself to a portion of their lives, just by

looking.

Is that wrong?

Am I a writer or just a voyeur, with imagination?

I’ll let you decide.