That's none of our business

I had a headache tonight. I think it was the closest I've ever gotten to a migraine because it was all down the left side of my skull, and if I rubbed my temple the pain made me wince, and the wincing hurt. I was lying on the floor drooling and kicking my legs until I had to leave for the record store. Marc had told me that Virgin was going to start selling the new White Stripes album at midnight. I got there a half hour early and they told me to get in line outside the store if I wanted a free t-shirt with purchase. I did. There were four guys sitting in a row outside. That was the line.

On one side of me was a guy wearing a pair of white leather shoes with black laces. They looked like something he'd found in his grandfather's closet. The line started to grow. My head hurt. Across the street I could see a cat on a fire escape five floors up. Behind me was a girl with long blonde hair, who was being chatted up by the guy beside her. I heard them sit down and introduce themselves, and when fifteen minutes had gone by they were already talking about their jobs, career plans, summer vacations, and favorite flavors of gelato. If possible, I was even more mesmerized by their conversation than the white grandfather shoes with black laces. I couldn't believe they'd just met. Then the girl's phone rang and she didn't recognize the number but picked it up anyway. She started asking the caller how they were doing, et cetera, before realizing it was a wrong number, and then she continued to talk to them for five more minutes .

(I will never understand extroverted people. Never ever. Forever ever.)

In conclusion: Because I was one of the first 20 people at the till once they opened, ahead even of the rabid Coldplay fans, I got a White Stripes t-shirt. It's very large and red. I got back to where I'd parked my car in the Hotel Vancouver lot, put the new cd in the player in my trunk, and realized my headache was gone.