Scene

At the library I sat down next to a man, took out my laptop charger and started to untangle it. Noting his furtive glance at me, I moved my hands more gently, drawing the plug slowly through loop after loop, wondering absently if I was torturing him. I thought of old paintings of women sewing, their focused hands gracefully pulling upwards, downwards. Does it really matter whether the thread between a woman's fingers is delicate fiber or a computer cord? The implications are always the same.