Who was reading: A rumpled red-head in a rumpled coat.
Her copy of the book was looking: Pretty beat up. As though it had survived monsoon season in Bali, been used as a napkin at a tomato-intensive Italian feast, and struggled to get over a nasty divorce, with, idunno, the dust jacket?
But actually: I'm guessing it was just dropped in the bath-tub.
THEN! within seconds of transferring trains, I saw someone reading a book with the eerily similar title: Women, Food & God.
Maybe Secretly . . . We're all reading the same book, only dressed up in different words. Spooky.
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