At Barkly Square (a pretty ordinary shopping mall in Brunswick: no nightingales here), I walked past the big glass windows of the little food court. Sitting up at the bar facing the windows (with the fish and chips, the "asian" food, the turkish bar, the hamburger joint and the roast chicken bar behind him) was a man with a big spoon, demolishing with gusto a large half of watermelon. Its lurid pink and green looked cartoonish against the quotidian drabness of his surroundings.
In April last year, I blogged about a woman eating cheerios in Philadelphia. Are two examples enough to constitute a series?