Let me be more specific: I’m sitting at a little table at Starbucks. One of the homeless guys from the neighborhood comes in and sits about three feet from me (it’s a small place) at about two-o’clock from me.
He’s wearing flip flops and his feet are filthy and covered with sores. He has two bags with him full of random crap, and he can’t seem to decide where to sit. He moves to a table, leaves his bag there when he moves to a comfy chair, spends about five minutes throwing wooden stirrers onto the chair opposite one at a time, then picks them up and throws them on the floor, then picks them up again and throws them onto a table.
Me, I’m deliberately not looking at him. Not when he’s standing at a corner scratching his back on the wall, not when he’s letting his feet dangle over the arm of the chair, not at all. He’s much too close to me for us to look at each other without engaging, and once that starts I’m never going to get anything done.
So I kept my eyes on my laptop screen. I kept my hands on the keyboard. And I met my goal for the day. Now I have to get a couple things done around the apartment and write enough to make yesterday’s goal, too. (eta: Done)