Listening In

While I consider myself a law-abiding citizen, I do enjoy eavesdropping. The act of listening in on a conversation is usually not criminal, of course, but it can be. I like to think I keep the habit in check.

Nevertheless, if I'm out to dinner I sometimes listen harder to the conversation at the next table than I do to my own.  This is not an admirable trait, but I can't help myself. Maybe it's the writer in me, the observer. But maybe that's just an excuse.

This morning I realized how much I eavesdrop while walking (walks dropping?), having harvested two juicy bits of dialogue just on today's stroll from train to office:

"It was real Louisiana gumbo," said one camo-clad soldier to another as a group of them breezed past me as I emerged from Metro.

The other was uttered by a top-coated, loafer-wearing man who was striding beside me down a Crystal City street.  "Yes," he said into his phone. "Northern Macedonia."

Ah, the tales one could spin from these tidbits. But alas, I have other work to do, so for now, these snippets will remain ... just snippets.