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Her: Are you talking to yourself?

He was embarrassed, and stumbled for an explanation for his behavior.

Her: No, really, it’s ok. I do it too… generally not in public. It tends to freak people out.

Much more at ease.

Him: Where do you do it then?

Her: Typically, when I’m driving. Sometimes I pretend to be on my cell phone, if I’m in public.

Him: So you do do it in public, then?

Her: …if I can avoid freaking people out.

Him: And why so concerned at the comfort level of others?

I laughed.

Her: I wish I could say it was a concern for others. Honestly, I feel uncomfortable if I feel as though I’m making others such.

Him: Why?

Her: That’s… that’s probably to do with some insecurity of mine.

Him: No, not why do you feel uncomfortable. Why do you talk to yourself?

Her: I don’t know. There are things I need to say and no one I want to say them to, I guess.

Him: You guess?

Her: Yeah, I guess. You’re implying such behavior has a concrete logical answer behind it. I’m not really in the mood to justify madness. I was just trying to let you know that people are watching you.

Him: …and now they’re watching you.

Her: Excuse me?

Him: They’re watching you talk to me. I was talking to myself, and you approached me. They’re judging you now.  Welcome to a very un-exclusive club.

Her: I think I’ll decline your membership bid, but thanks for the offer.

Him: Someone who talks to themselves denying the offer of a friend. Not surprising.

Her: I’d say it’s kind of the opposite.

Him: I know. That’s not surprising either. Feigned superiority, to a degree.

I laughed to hide the fact that I agreed with him.

Her: Do you think any sense of superiority isn’t feigned?

I paused as though to imply I was one of these select elite.

Her: It’s only in our own world. Which will change. There’s always that possibility of that better around the corner who will knock you back down to how you felt the last time you swore it would never happen again.

Him: Are we talking about love now?

Her: I wasn’t, but I suppose that had an air of romanticism. No, I was speaking generally, not pining a lover who left like the rest of us are.

Him: This encounter seems to have a theme of generalities. People who speak to themselves… those who don’t… superiors… inferiors… need I go on?

Her: Seeking answers to questions that don’t have them?

Him: Aren’t you?

Her: Isn’t everyone? No, I take that back. Shouldn’t everyone? And why aren’t they?

Him: You’re madly existential.

Her: And you’re madly invasive.

Him: Philosophy: a waste of time?

Her: That’s clearly a matter of opinion. Mine is no, it’s not.

Him: Ah, so that’s why you talk to yourself. Only someone who talks to themselves would have answered that way.

Her: Excuse me?

Him: You’re constantly seeking answers, and you figure that they might as well come from within over anywhere else.

Her: And why did my answer to your question imply that?

Him: Your emphasis on the importance of opinion. Very left brain, somewhat existential, and very mad.

I decided to look at this irritating man for the first time since I sat down. And no, we were not about to fuck. This is far from a love story.