Who was reading: A woman in a dingy olive trench coat and textured linen suit, with limp, straightened hair glued right to her scalp. Her face was so bright and youthful peeking out of this drab costume that it resembled a rosebud emerging from a dead mass of vines.
And metaphorical flowers weren't the only thing blossoming on the train-car... love was in bloom too. The woman cast more than a couple longing glances at a fellow reader standing in the aisle.
Tall dark and handsome, the beige-sweatered object of her affections was scrolling through the news on his iphone. The type on his screen was set extremely large and you know what they say about men with large typefaces....
Unfortunately, he either failed to notice, or made the conscious decision to spurn her ocular advances.
More on this in the sequel to Chapman's book: The Five-Hundred Dialects of Scorn
Random Pet Peeve: While the text-resizing feature on e-readers is useful, I kind of prefer when things are unnecessarily difficult. Like with analog and garter belts. Is there a love language for people who think like this?