The young woman, let's call her Sally, is sitting on a park bench, reading a book. It is a normal-sized bench, wide enough to comfortably seat two people had Sally favored one side or another. But she hadn't. Instead, she sits directly in the middle.

An older man, let's call him Bob, walks up and casts a shadow over the pages of Sally's book. He points to the ten inches of space to Sally's right and asks, "Mind if I sit there?"

Sally looks up. She says, "I'm expecting someone."

"That so?" Bob asks.

Sally nods and looks back down at her book.

Bob walks to the next bench, which is empty. He sits on the far end, conspicuously leaving room so another occupant may join him.

The sun inches west in the clear blue sky.

An old woman sits down on Bob's bench.

"Good thing you picked this bench because that girl over there says she's expecting someone," Bob says in a loud voice.

The old woman rests her hands and chin on her cane and smiles vaguely.

"The someone she's expecting," Bob continues, "hasn't shown up in the past thirty minutes."

The old woman begins to look somewhat alarmed.

"Matter of fact," Bob is practically shouting at this point, "I don't think I've seen that girl turn a page in her book this whole time."

With great effort, the old woman uses her cane to stand up and walk away.

The sun journeys toward the horizon. Children shriek and laugh in the sandbox. A man kicks a soccer ball up and down the lawn. A Pomeranian yaps ferociously at a Rottweiler. Their owners yank at their leashes and exchange coarse words.

"That someone you're expecting wouldn't happen to have a large dog, would he?" Bob yells at Sally. Sally does not look up from her book.

The trees cast long shadows across the grass. Teenagers that had spent the afternoon smoking cigarettes on the swings go home to be fed. The park attendant, in a blue STAFF polo shirt, locks up the restrooms for the night.

A person pushing a shopping cart full of soiled blankets and crushed aluminum cans stops on the far end of the lawn and unfurls a torn sleeping bag. As the person crawls in, Bob yells to Sally, "Is that the someone you're waiting for?"

Sally doesn't look up from her book.

Bob yells. "I know you're not reading that book. There isn't any sunlight left."

Sally continues to read in darkness. Bob takes a granola bar out of his pocket and unwraps it. "Good thing I brought this with me. You've got to be hungry."

Stars twinkle overhead. Feral kittens scurry out of the bushes and tumble on the field. The Big Dipper slowly arcs from one end of the park to the other.

The next morning, Bob is dozing upright on his bench, listing sideways and snoring.

"Excuse me."

Bob wakes up with a jerk.

"This yours?" The park attendant picks up the granola bar wrapper at Bob's feet.

"Sorry, I'll throw it away," Bob says.

"I got it," the park attendant says. He walks across the lawn to the dumpsters. On his way, he nudges the sleeping bag gently with his foot. The person inside sits up, climbs out from under the covers, drapes the sleeping bag atop the overloaded shopping cart, and moves on.

Bob sees Sally, awake, book in hand.

"Did you get any shuteye?" Bob says. "Or was that book too riveting to put down?" He laughs.

Another day passes. Storm clouds form overhead. "Looks like that book of yours is going to get wet," Bob says. Sally pulls out a small umbrella from her handbag right before the downpour. Bob sits under the deluge, drinking water as it comes down. "At least we won't die of thirst."

A week goes by. They are both noticeably thinner. "This has got to be helping my diabetes," Bob says.

Months pass. Then years. Bob's hair has disappeared while Sally's has grown so long, it hangs over the backrest and falls onto the grass. She never puts down her book.

One day, Bob stand ups and grabs his chest. He flails wildly and cries, "I'm having a heart attack! Call an ambulance!" Sally does not look up. A park attendant — the teenage son of the one before — comes running over.

"Are you okay, sir?"

Bob abruptly stops his theatrics and sits back down. "Yeah, I'm fine. I could die right here, for all she cares."

Sally remains reading her page.

A decade goes by. Toddlers in the sandbox become smoking teenagers on the swings. The colony of stray cats is replaced by a pack of coyotes.

Bob rolls up his sleeve and checks his watch, which hangs limply on his emaciated wrist. "You know what? To hell with you! I'm not wasting one more minute of my precious time." Bob stands up and stretches as tall as his stiff body will let him. "I know you were never expecting someone." With that, he stomps down the lawn and heads across the street to the bus stop.

Waiting for the bus, Bob can see Sally in the distance. She continues to read her book. A young woman walks up to her. Sally slides over on the bench. The woman, let's call her Faye, takes a seat. Sally places the book between them, face down on the page that she has been reading for so many years. She then stands up, smooths her long gray hair, and walks away. Faye picks up the book and starts to read.

"Would you look at that!" Bob says under his breath. The bus pulls up in front of him, obstructing his view of the park. The door opens. Bob tells the driver, "I'll catch the next one."

When the bus pulls away, Bob can see Faye reading on the bench. He makes his way back across the street, and into the park.

.