By the time the Scandinavians and I had finished laughing, the Americans had gone. At the next stop, the Scandinavians left also, leaving me alone for the long journey up to the other end of the line where I live, feeling somehow as empty as the carriage then was.

    I had another bizarre encounter later that night when a man yelled 'Oy' to me from a distance of half a kilometre. We were in a park at the time and there was no-one else he could have been yelling at, but the guy disappeared into the night as suddenly as he had appeared, and I trudged on home.

    How very British, I thought, and how very lonely. The truth is, I wished I'd been with the Americans. Of course, I couldn't possibly admit that to anyone. Not even you.




from : [waz@untergrund.org]
date : [oct 30th 1997]
subject : [a <pedant> writes </pedant>]