Three random connections from an endless train journey.
He was American; stepped on the train. Long, lanky hair framing a middle-aged moustache. Lean and tanned, he wore a carefully pressed grey suit, a grey shirt. And why the bright orange shoes? His face was crevassed. I wished I had the courage to say,
"Could I take your photograph, Sir. You look interesting".
The return journey, and I read a book that explains the spread of syphilis in Brooklyn. It's interesting. The seat in front of me is occupied by a young Indian lady. She speaks louder and louder into her mobile telephone. The language is a curious mixture of English and Indian, and the conversation becomes more heated. I lean forward and cough discretely. Later she passes by my seat pushing the drinks trolley. She apologises for speaking so loudly and I smile.
They will be lovers. In just a few moments I will hear their hushed, excited, exploratory voices. I know they will kiss and part endlessly. They will be lost in it.
This is my train journey.
