Tuesday, October 05, 2004

The myth of crossing paths

Picadilly line. Somewhere in zone 2. Incredibly sleepy - contact lenses hurt. 'Goth' girl walks in the train. Very tall, very pale, not very pretty but intense light blue eyes. She is all dressed in black - boots, long, heavy skirt, netty top, leather jacket. Earrings, silvery rings in all fingers, black nail varnish, crosses hang from her neck. She sits almost in front of me. As soon as she is sat our eyes make contact and stay there. I silently spell out 'What?'. We keep looking at each other. Drowsiness is gone instantly. The familiar adrenaline rush kicks in along with the feeling that anything can happen.

One of us looks away. Contact again. This time the other looks away. Supposedly random looks away from each other by both of us - to the people sitting nearby, outside, the map. In truth we are avoiding each other. Long contact again. She smiles, I have no choice but to do so myself - nervously. We look away again. Contact and then smiles again. And again. I feel nervous and sense nervousness. I wonder whether people sitting next to us notice the exchange. Long pause. She takes out a book ('Prophecies of Nostradamus') and starts to read (?). I steal away looks.

The book goes in her bag again. Tension is renewed. Eventually contact resumes. Nobody smiles, after what seems a long time she just raises an eyebrow. I lean back and look at her as emotionlessly as I can. She finally looks away. Repeat.

At Osterley she gets off. At the next stop I do too.


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