Today the other employees and I headed over to the law firm where we begged for money because lawyers always have money to piss away on the arts. I'm not really an employee; I'm an unpaid intern which places me in the realm of slave. I have a secret hobby. I like to watch people and make stories about them in my head as though I were writing a script for them. I do it all the time. I do it to kids in my class, people in the mall, mothers at the grocery store. I did it today at the law firm.

There was one young lawyer there who seemed like he had been a hard-partying frat brother in a previous life. He was not good looking but attractive enough to be confident in himself, magnified by the fact that he was clearly the youngest one there. Too bad all the women were either too short, too old or too successful. The fraternity boy sat down to talk to me. He made me antsy, the way he sat with his legs spread open and one eyebrow arched higher than the other. I imagined him being a real whore. I didn't talk to him for very long.

I work with a man who always wears nice shoes but his eyes are full of secrets. I can see him pouring a glass of red wine for a date and making passionate love on the weekends, then returning neatly to work on Monday. He's black, but not too black. His skin is the color of coffee with a little cream added, his hair that of dark chocolate. He once showed me a picture of a woman and asked if I thought she was attractive. She had a nice smile so I said yes, then asked if she were his girlfriend. He smiled and said, "No, just a friend," but his secretive eyes said otherwise. I bet they liked to listen to jazz and talk about political parties together. I could see her becoming down on herself and he would rub her arm gently and tell her she was beautiful, then quickly back away in attempt to not be obvious. Then he'd take her home and think about her all night, maybe write a song or two.

I am so weird.