Do you ever have one of those days where you tragically fail at all things human and eventually give up and resort to taking photos of other people doing the things you failed at whilst eating handfuls of candy?
No?
Only me?
I'm bad at things, and surprisingly very frightened of ladders.
I learned this today as I stood shaking on the top step, and had sudden flashbacks of my brother falling off an old, rusty, yellow ladder as a kid. It didn't even happen to me but there is something about a chubby ginger falling from great heights (or like the roof of a one story house but I like the drama) that really resinates with you.
Another thing happened today, I met the next love of my life...or I guess re-met?
A couple of times a week, I take the same 5'clock M train home and every single time, I get on at the same exact spot, into the same exact car and ride it to the same exact stop (obviously, because that is where I live?) Sometimes I notice a familiar face of fellow riders who are also creatures of habit and give them the customary wave (in my head....New Yorkers are dicks.) but one particular rider always catches my eye. A tall, lanky guy (I have a type, it happens)with a smattering of tattoos (all traditional style), some lame hipster glasses that I'm really curious if they house a prescription (if they don't I'm immediately turned off....I swear I'm stuck on a constant pendulum of lust or hatred) and always some combination of denim and plaid. I always see him book in hand, note his cuteness and go about scrolling through my phone.
Today though was different, my phone was dead.
When my phone is dead, I like to play a game I call, how long can I stare at this person before they curse me out? I do this purely because I like to study people. I think I was supposed to be an artist, if it wasn't for my lack of art skills of course.My first target was a cute dad type sitting across from me: Swamp green pants, James Potter glasses, an expensive (I'm guessing, what do I know?) watch and a pen and paper in hand scribbling away like a mad man. He looked like a Geoff (G spelling, never a Jeff) and my guess is that he was a professor of sorts, I could have that completely wrong but he had that vibe about him. Every now and then he would look away from his paper in thought, I liked him because in that brief moment his eyes were like windows and it was as if you could physically see his brain whizzing away behind it. Two stops later, he scurried off the train. He was most definitely a scurrier.
Enter love of my life.
I chose him next because I had seen him many times before. In all honestly, I was drawn in by his tattoos, really well done and for some reason I wanted to know all about them, what they meant, if they had any meaning at all. I also liked that he was reading so intently. As the train threw him about his eyes never left the page, I couldn't tell what he was reading and it really bothered me. He was a book curler and he had words in the margins, when I saw that I was sold.
That's when I noticed he was staring back at me, slight smirk that only got smirkier as he saw that I had noticed him staring at me, staring at him,
I had spent so long trying to figure out what the book was I completely forgot about the social awkwardness that comes from staring at people you don't know. Damn it!
I quickly looked away but my peripherals told me he didn't. He instead uncurled his beaten up book and placed it in his backpack, headphones went in and he looked back smirking even more.
I'm sure you could guess what came next....
Of course he *came over, asked for my number and we all lived happily ever after....in love....with cute little tattoo'd babies.
Just kidding, I got off at the next stop. How anticlimactic. He did give me the customary head nod on my way out so I mean, that's love right?
Until next time dagger tat.
