Being Beta

Exercises in the higher banter with One of 26. Elsewhere called 'poet of adland'. By a whipple-squeezer. Find out why being beta is the new alpha: betarish at googlemail dot com

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Reportage: Tired eyes on lovers

Dateline: Friday 2 June, between Euston (Bank branch) and King's Cross St Pancras [Northern line], about 07.47

I had closed my eyes, the weariness of the previous day/s not fully accounted for by a depth charge of sleep. The Rapture's 'House of Jealous Lovers' came on, and my eyes started to pulse, a throb in time straining against shut eyelids. The chop chop chop of the trebly guitar started, and I could see shafts neon, green, pink, orange and blue. Rectangular and evanescent, they disappeared if I stared against the dark too long to try and see them.

When the trebly guitar started to pick out the single notes, all up and down within its unchallenging parameters, the chunks turned to a single string, uncoiling into a nameless distance on the right.

I opened my eyes to see a woman getting up from the seat opposite me. She was replaced directly by another woman. This new woman turned her head imperceptibly to her right. Following her eyeline, my eyeline met the sight of a bald (shaved) man leaning against the internal carriage door. He had in his hand a sheaf of handwritten papers. He shook his head slightly. But there was a small, secret smile on his lips. And then he winked at the woman, quickly, once, with his left eye.

I closed my eyes again.

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