A writing weirdo sits in the corner. Oh, she doesn’t seem all that weird. No unusual sunglasses or bizarre tan lines.
As a matter of fact, she doesn’t have any tan lines at all.
She looks ordinary. She sits in her corner with her tea and scone, nothing outstanding about her.
She pulls out her computer and she brings up her document. A wicked little gleam comes to life in her eyes. Her mouth turns up in a gleeful smile. She mutters as she types, but she mutters too quietly for anyone to understand.
Every now and then, she make a random hand gesture as if trying to hammer some point home. Or maybe she’s practicing an archaic form of sign language. It is honestly hard to tell.
She bites her lower lip and tries not to laugh, but somehow a laugh breaks free. She hunches over and types fast and hard with complete abandon.
A nice looking gentleman sits next to her and tries to strike up a conversation.
She raises her head and gives him a vague, glazed over answer before returning to her domain.
Her tea gets too cold. Her scone gets too dry.
The gentleman gives up on conversation attempts and leaves.
And she keeps typing mysterious things on her computer with a wild, carefree glee.