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Eating Alone

I was sitting alone at lunch today, like I usually do, reading my book and eating soup and a sandwich. The smells of the sandwich shop wafted pleasantly in on the winter breeze as the front door opened and closed repeatedly.

Ding ding! went the door.

People walked past me to order their food, but I didn't pay them much attention. One lady carried a beautiful, patchwork bag with her and it made me wonder if that type of thing would sell well online.

Just as I began to ponder the logistics of buying a sewing machine, fabrics, and the other things needed to sell such a bag, another lady popped her head into my field of vision. I jumped, startled, as she'd approached suddenly from behind me. In the busy din of the crowded shop, I hadn't heard her walk up.

"Do you mind if I take this chair?" she asked, hand on the wooden chair across from me, ready to steal it away.

Was it that obvious that I was eating alone? I thought, slightly insulted. What if I'd been waiting for someone?

"Sure," I replied, forcing a cheerful tone of voice. After all, she probably needed it more than I did.

I sat there, thinking it over for a few minutes. Was it really that bad that I was sitting there alone? I was enjoying myself; did it matter what other people thought?

I thought about it for a second and then decided that it didn't. Content with my own company once again, I went back to my broccoli cheese soup and my Pretty Little Liars book. Continuing my lunch, I felt happy and calm.


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