I spy.

There are some hairs on the table. Colorful markers, green full ink pen, some written papers, brown and pink bag, a coca-cola pencil box. But hairs? Why did she bring hairs to study? They embrace her cellphone, the one she looks at in search for an answer repeatedly. Or maybe she's looking at the hairs? On my side of the table, an apple to write on, a chicken hugs my cellphone and protects it from the germs of a well kept library. My hands are getting older, my back is kind of stiff. I promised myself years ago, never to write journal type entries. This is a lame yet amusing (for me) alternative, at the moment. I don't promise I will repeat another paragraph of an on the moment reproduction. The hairs just made me stop thinking. Maybe they are not hairs. Maybe its a funky scarf that to me, they just look like a group of small black dreadlocks. To me it will never be a scarf. Why would someone study in a library with hair? Why hair?? Maybe she fought with her boyfriend? Maybe, when she goes outside she will become someone else. Maybe she's just feeling irie.