She wore a white sweater and had a pink scarf wrapped around her neck and a fuzzy coat with leopard-like spots. She turned to him as he sat in the window seat writing in a small, gray notebook.
“Is that a journal?” she asked.
He set his pencil down and turned to her.
“Yes it is,” he said. “I’ve kept one for a long time, but I don’t write on paper much anymore.”
She smiled and said, “I don’t keep a journal.”
He nodded.
“You write like my son,” she said. “His letters look just like yours. And he’s left handed, too.”
He looked down at the mechanical pencil in his left hand: Pentel 0.5mm with 2B leads.
“Is he an engineer?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “He’s an architect.”