Writing in public seems so vulgar. Watching people and judging them. Yes, I said judging, since that’s what I’m doing, peering into their lives, imagining all the wonderful or terrifying things they do, peeking into their closets and their car trunks, sifting through the remains in the trash, checking their bank statements, listening in on their phone calls. I know all about them, these people I’ve never met and don’t have the courage to talk to. Perhaps I’m shy because I know so much about others, sitting here in the corner, sipping my coffee, or perhaps I’d rather keep them in my imaginary world instead of learning the pedestrian truth about them. We’d both be happier that way.