The man in the checkout line has told me about his gallbladder, his ex-wife and his feelings on the new speed bump. We met four minutes ago. I nod. I make the small sound that means I am listening. I am not listening. Some thoughts are meant to be had privately and then left in the car. A funny sarcastic shirt for anyone who knows more about a stranger's divorce than about their own cousins. The staff meeting ran long because Greg thought out loud for eleven minutes. I have started bringing a book.

THE FINE PRINT

PLEASE USE YOUR over INSIDE THOUGHTS in tall condensed capitals. Between them, the lower half of a woman's face at a slight angle, nose to chin, one finger raised to her lips in a hush, the rest of the hand curled below. One ink with a cracked, specked finish. No full stop.