Pick up an artist

At this point in my day I've been looking at books for the past 2.3 hours, in a four story bookstore. Words don't make sense to me anymore, so I decided to look at the picture books.

Crouching at the end of the photography isle, I find a book that is as banal as the color some call, "concrete" in this town; A book on dogs.

And thats when I feel it.

I dont even have to exercise my already dead peripheral vision to know that there is a man made of soot and boot dirt with yellow eyes breathing down my neck waiting for my concentration to break long enough so he can get his "hello"s in.

My book snaps shut like a starving venus fly trap- and so does his voice.
Before Im even able to grab another book on "trees" or "the ocean", my ears grab on to his "Heya there little lady" and refuse to let go.

"Um. Hello" Quick, fingers; find me another spineless picture book.
"So, you like dogs?" My fingers fail, but my ears hold steadfast.

No, I was just looking at a book on them because the fiery hatred I have for them burns inside me like one thousand suns.
"Yeah"

I can practically smell the acidity of the wash on his jean jacket, and yet if devoid of all senses, I know Id be able to still feel the grime falling off of him.

"So, what's your sign?"
I pretend I have no clue what that means, in a feeble attempt to knock him out of 1983. But apparently thanks to some wormhole, we are  in a club listening to Bonnie Tyler, and this creature wants to know my sign.

"Your astrological sign" Smacks his reply; since he now assumes he is smarter than I by showing an acute display of his knowledge of the final frontier.

His words clasp my ear as though my wrist were that of a child's and his one of the man in the park that drives a large white van.

"January. I was born in January." The words drool out of my mouth. I cant stop them. Drool. Helpless word dribble.

"OOh girl you and earf sign!"
Great, now hes excited.

With my nose buried in yet another picture-book that I cannot even seem to view, his words dance with my ear on the devils dance floor.

After I tell him I am not one for organized religion, his grasp seems to weaken and my ears can finally breathe.

I still cant come to terms with how I was not able to ask him to leave.

Maybe I felt sympathy for him.
Maybe I felt couldn't make another human feel as horrible as I felt.
Maybe, I just couldn't feel.