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.