When Low
Often he would find a young woman. Not that a woman in her thirties or forties would be useless, she just needed to be lackadaisical in stride. If she were flustered, Chris had reasoned, there was no chance at a real connection. She had to be in the shopping Zen that was all about achieving that souvenir of serenity. He’d wait for her to handle some of the books. Maybe she’d slide a hand down the front cover. She’d be careful not to crack the binding. This might not be the one after all.
When a few paperbacks had been examined and replaced he would go up and just touch them. He’d place a stiff finger on the top of the spine and cock his head to read the title. Invariably the woman would turn to wonder at this young man who had beaten lottery ticket odds. Fate had obviously garnered his curiosity to the very same pebble of literature she had just considered. Chris would notice her sheepishly, push his hands in his double pockets and shrug a little. He’d cross her path a few more times before he’d start loading up his coat.
During these flirting crimes, Chris really didn’t care what he was stealing. He took science texts, graphic novels, philosophical treatises, karate manuals, and all types of books for Dummies. So long as the woman would turn the corner and see him cramming his jacket full, his shoplifting was without direction.
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