Entering like a twisted exercise on intellectual regurgitation, the “bus book club trio” discuss their “unoriginalities” under guarded pretense. One of the members of which is the spread-eagle backpack lady, realized without surprise. As an auto-defense mechanism, I place a pair of ear buds against my auditory sensors, and piped in Zeppelin’s Tea for One, for I cannot bring myself to listen to the “bus book club trio’s” stunted discussion on endless restatement of what is being read or what was read again.
They are basically the only three carrying on a discussion that will in all likelihood be irrevocably forgotten in a manner of a mere week if that, since other books shall be scanned, analyzed to the nth degree, and passages recalled to make points and postulations that require much furrowing of brows and thoughtful scratching of chins. Oh yes, those outward gestures especially are so required for this type of palaver, above all the former which possesses the ability to mask the maximum amount of fervent patronizing that would otherwise be conveyed.
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