stare- unabashedly, if you have to

i've come to find that i am a people watcher. i suppose you could call me an eves dropper... unflattering as that may sound... and though it's not uncommon to participate in this, i find myself doing it so much that it no longer applies to my habits, but more to a skill. some may call it sad, creepy even to latch onto other peoples' social agendas more so than my own... but sometimes i can bore even myself when left to my own entertainment devices.

in most cases, i'll be sitting on my own to a meal or a cup of joe, and catch myself silently wandering into the nearest, or in many cases loudest conversation taking place. you can't always hope for a gem, mainly because the loudest ones are rarely sober and/or intelligent. but as a habitual people watcher, i've stumbled upon a good handful of special, oddball conversations. the most entertaining of which are often the conversations between children. children old enough to hold an actual banter, but haven't hit adolescence. teen-aged bitching is the worst. working in a pottery painting establishment, listening in on some genuinely funny chats is a daily occurrence...

"...no, don't, don't make fun of, of that. because, because there actually are? like, some people? and they like actually have like ringworms..."
"yeah, but like only people in like china..."
"yeah, why is it things like that only happen to like china people?-"
"because, because everything happens in china. everything, everything is made in china..."
"nuh-uh. nuh-uh-"
"yeah! everything is made in china."
"noooo? no, because i? had something that said 'made in taiwan'..."
"taiwan is in china."
"well, whatever. just don't make fun of ringworm."

i wonder, though, as i sit here with my computer, throwing handfuls of hash browns back into my gob, allowing some to roll out of my mouth and onto my lap and the surrounding floor, if there isn't someone sitting and watching me as i watch others.
am i, myself a focal point of judgment?

i dust the last of the crumbs from my face and the front of my shirt...
who cares? let 'em judge. who am i to take away the empowering feeling of secret narrative authority?

-k