So here I am at Starbucks, testing to see if being here among the bustle of loungers helps gives me writing inspiration. They say it’s good to get out of the house once in a while to recharge the soul. I take the first seat that’s available, and what do I notice? Hanging on the side of the chair, hidden behind the backrest is a white purse. I look around wondering if someone had dared claim their space with something so valuable. Several minutes past, and I thought to myself definitely not. A poor woman must be frantically back-tracking where she could have misplaced her purse. Eventually she would return, or will she?
As I waited, I felt like a culprit. I didn’t want to take the purse and give it to the front counter. For what if in that instant, the woman popped into the store and saw me? I’d be implicated as the thief and would have to explain myself. Maybe she was simply taking a long time in the bathroom after a venti mint mocha frappuccino and had a very large husband to boot? I was trapped, and felt like I was on candid camera, being tested on what I should do. The temptation to open the purse and reveal any treasures was not great.