There was this time when I was in college and working at a local outlet mall around the holidays so everything in my memory is a blur of gift wrap, cinnamon scented candles and rude people. But there was a Dairy Queen at the entrance to the mall and so almost daily, I ran through the drive-through for something – a burger, or a blizzard. I’d sit in the parking lot and eat and watch the traffic and try to find a Zen place before entering the fray.
There were plenty of people to watch and even though I wasn’t yet aware that this quirk in my personality that made me a serial observer would one day serve me well as a writer, I was already practicing my craft. I loved to imagine who the people were and what their lives were like, and most of the time I was absolutely certain of my deductions.
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