God and the Pope

This morning I finished reading Orlando while standing on the third step in the pool. What a whirlwind of ideas and drama and description! I don't know how to review it, yet. I just know that I couldn't have read it at a better time in my life. Love.

Outside of this Starbucks, two men are sitting, shooting the breeze. They've provided me quite a bit of entertainment. For a while I couldn't see one of their faces because it was hidden past the other one's head. He was speaking, which I could only infer by the wildness in his hands as they gestured and made motions and acted things out. I watched them with a bit of fascination. He made a fist and acted like he was stuffing things into it. He demonstrated the length of his forearm. He made circles. He patted invisible heads. All the while I was imagining that he was God and was retelling the creation of the world and it made me laugh. Especially when he patted the heads. The other man has unruly white hair and is smoking. He has thick RayBan glasses. I'm pretending he was once a Pope. God is also wearing glasses, which I can see because he is sitting back in his chair now and they dialogue interchangably and flick their cigarrettes. I never figured him for a Cowboys' fan. He's wearing their hat.