Tuesday, 31 July 2012

Home time

The man opposite me is silent. Pensive.

The man opposite me wears clothes chosen by his wife. He is not image-conscious, nor do I think he is persecuting me; not this man opposite me.

The man opposite me is no international hit man, no man of mystery. His socks are standard-issue black, far from mundane blue. There is no suspicious bulge at his ankle nor in his jeans; I have no reason to suspect he is concealing a massive Glock.

The man opposite me has Vaudeville eyebrows, kittens trying to fight their way out of a carrier bag. The man opposite me's brows are wild yet contained. Perhaps he is Bavarian.

The man opposite me discusses tree-dwelling rodents in his mind. Der Mann mir gegenüber ist nicht Deutsch.

The man opposite me has an air of melancholy, nascent laughter lines. The man opposite me is barely receding, yet silver-lined. The man opposite me is a paradox.

The man opposite me is preparing to leave, rising as I do. Exiting.

1 comment:

Come on, spit it out. You're not normally this quiet so let's hear your thoughts.