Granola

A stout woman, approximately 5’2″, olive skin, short black curly hair; she is dressed in a blue long-sleeved shirt and darker blue slacks.

As approach her position, my mouth full of granola, she says that I seem familiar.

I try to chew faster and swallow so as to respond to her, but I can only manage a smile and a grunt.

The woman reassures me that she is not trying a pick-up-line.

By the time I finish chewing, I realize that anything I say would seem awkward. I smile and turn to walk away almost knocking over another woman passing by, who smiles and wishes me a good afternoon.

It is still morning.

...

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