18 July 2013

City Face

He observed me as we both were taken above ground by the escalator. Our common trajectory glided us through the building corridor. Dark sunglasses masked his eyes and he wore an oversized white tee shirt. Usually I press along the city streets with songs like Florence and the Machine's Howl to pick up my steps. Lack of music amplifies comments from uncivilized city people and in this instance I heard him inquire after my uninviting facial expresion.

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "That's just my city face." I explained that I was still evaluating the success rate of the stowed away smile against unwanted recognition by strangers.

He was amazed by my wit and asked where I was from. I accosted his expectations and took my rightful stand as a city girl.

"What is your name," he asked, struggling to sound intellectual by omitting grammatical contractions. 

At that moment my lapse of judgment ceased and I realized we had been in each others presence for one minute too long.

"I don't think that's very important," I shot. Sharply I turned on my heels. My black dress swerved with me as I crossed the street, my nose held high.


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