I took my book to the lonely hammock for some peace and avoidance.
Sun dribbled thought the gaps in the leaves above as I sunk into that other world.
But then, out of the corner of my eye, I glanced the person I least wished to see.
Surely he would see my book, surely he would see my all aloneness and understand.
That hope faded as he approached some more but I kept my face buried.
Still he spoke. I sighedand mustered a one word replying, never even glancing upward.
I was expecting that to be it. Unpleasant but finally over. I was wrong.
He kept talking and I kept not replying but the other world of my book slipped away.
Writing Things Better 