Last Friday, while I was killing time in a doughnut shop having coffee and finally reading my first Doris Lessing, there was a stranger.
The stranger looked innocuous enough. All I noticed was that he was Caucasian, probably in his 50s, and reading The New York Times. I was seated next to him. After my initial glance, I hardly ever looked at him and delved straight into my newly purchased novel, Doris Lessing's The Fifth Child.
Now that novel. Pretty good. Short, very dark, great atmosphere of dread and menace. If half of her novels were as good as The Fifth Child, then I am sold. When a much lauded author dies whom I've never read, I feel that it becomes an "obligation" to rush immediately to the bookstore and get a copy of his or her book. Death really is a strong motivation.
Anyway, after an hour, the stranger got up to leave. Then I noticed him coming to my table. He said, "I noticed that you're reading Doris Lessing. I just want to give you this article. It's from today's paper."
What can one say in situations like this but "Thank you." Somehow adding "You shouldn't have" seems to go overboard. But yes, the stranger shouldn't have. He shouldn't have torn his paper for an article he wants to hand over to a total stranger. He shouldn't, but he did. I'm glad that he did. And that's why he made my day. Well, he and Doris Lessing. Her novel kicks ass.