Looking up at the glass railing of the higher level through the central atrium, I spotted the unmistakable black silhouette and adequate legs of the far-eastern woman from before.
She was still shuttling between unknown targets on the same level, walking gracefully down the sparsely populated corridors in her relaxed gait.
eople watching is a common pastime; As a social species, it is instinctive.
If you’re a writer, however, it can be the difference between flat featureless prose, and descriptions people can fall in love with.
A little further along my stroll, a Filipino couple were sitting on bench as their daughter, a girl of few years, with a small ponytail and a green outfit, attempted to put on a dance performance in an empty corner.
The dancer kept looking down at her feet to check herself as she continued; An unexpected conscientiousness.
Maybe you do, in your mind, even though it never shows.
These windows into our inner world are a priceless resource for writers.
I know this because there are usually real teenagers flooding the corridors around the cinema on weekends, with their fake hair and their awkward perfunctory hugs as they meet and greet the other creatures in parallel packs.
In spite of the appearances, this group was different and stiffer (if that was possible).